Twelve Sacrifices
by Haleine Delail
Summary: The Doctor and Martha are embarking on a new adventure as parents! But when shades of the past come to call, their child's destiny is threatened. They must rally to keep his future intact, not to mention the life of an innocent little girl. And, as certain aspects of their son's fate come alive and into focus, other things die... (Fourth "installment" in the CJ series.)
1. Chapter 1

**This story marks ****Part Four****, and will probably be the last of the series about CJ Ephraim and his amazing, wonderful parents! Certain aspects of it will make much more sense if you have read through the whole series, but in case you are not so inclined, I'll try to make it easier:**

**Things We Weren't Meant To Know:**** The 10th Doctor and Martha Jones' relationship begins as canon, though over the course of trying to thwart an intergalactic plague roughly 60 years in the future, they fall in love. They seek out the help of a biomedical expert called CJ Ephraim, only to find him already dead from the plague. As they root about through his research for answers, they run across his memoir, and realize that he is their son, and some incredibly hard times lie ahead. In addition to knowing when, where and how he will die, they learn that for his own protection, they will have to give him up at the age of thirteen to be raised by Martha's sister, Tish. They also learn that CJ will carry a torch throughout his life for Haruka, a Japanese woman who eventually runs off, gets married and never returns his feelings. At the end of the story, Martha finds that she is pregnant, and temporarily imbued with the Time Lord consciousness and abilities of the new life inside.**

**Dress Code:**** A malevolent being from the Phlotigo Galaxy, without corporeal form, begins "stealing" people out of thin air and holding them prisoner as data codes inside the internet. Once he learns who the Doctor is, what he is capable of, and that a new Time Lord is on its way, his primary objective becomes to appropriate the baby's consciousness. The Doctor and Martha are able to dispatch him, but they soon learn that similar beings from the Phlotigo Galaxy have been alerted and are on the prowl, and that this might be the sort of thing that could cause them to have to leave CJ someday, for his own protection. The story ends with Tish's wedding as a backdrop, and Martha and the Doctor in a state of gloom and doom, believing they have worked out the logistics of their sad eventual separation from their son.**

**(****Fear**** takes place sometime during ****Dress Code****. It is less a "story arc" story, and more of a piece of therapeutic writing for me.)**

**Portrait of Time:**** Attempting to have a leisurely holiday before the baby comes, the pair go to a carnival, where an enigmatic artist who calls himself Michelangelo paints a disturbingly lifelike portrait of Martha. Someone alerts them to the fact that the carnival is run on slave labor. In the course of investigating, they realize that Michelangelo is an enslaved Time Lord, and the portrait is a plea for help. They rescue the slaves and learn that Michelangelo had been a traveler like the Doctor, and this is how he had been captured, and survived the Time War. Michelangelo becomes a bit fixated on the baby that Martha is carrying, making Martha quite uncomfortable. But, he departs peaceably enough, vowing to find other "traveler" Time Lords who had survived the war. The story ends with Martha going into labor two months early!**

* * *

**I hope you love the CJ stories as much as I do! I know they are not always super-accessible to the passing fan, but neither, I would argue, is our beloved **_**Doctor Who!**_** I say, try it, you might find yourself hooked!**

**With this story, I am hoping to get back to some of the raw emotion we experienced in ****Things We Weren't Meant To Know****, which will not be easy. But now with baby CJ in the mix, and some new, tender issues to deal with, we might find ourselves back in weep-land. At least, that's my goal!**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 1

It was 3:04 a.m. when Martha felt a hand on her arm. It shook her just slightly.

"Martha," the familiar voice said. "Martha, wake up, honey."

"Oh, no," Martha groaned. "I told you, the extra bottles are in the fridge." Instinctively, she turned away from the voice and burrowed further into her pillow.

"I know that, love, it's just... well... something's wrong with the baby."

"What?" Martha shouted, sitting up suddenly. She switched on the lamp beside the bed, and illuminated her mother's worried-looking face.

"No, no, no," said Francine, her hands out in front of her, in a _stop _gesture. "I'm sure it's nothing to fret over."

"Mum, what is it?" Martha asked, her heart racing, throwing the blankets off and climbing to a standing position. She raced out of the bedroom with her mother following behind.

The bedrooms in Martha's flat were narrow and deep. She threw open the door of the room she had always referred to as "the guest room," but it was so small, she had always used it more as a closet than anything else. There was just enough room for a crib and a wooden rocking chair, and an irregularly-sized chest of drawers that Martha had bought at a boot sale a few years before, specially for this weird little room. And for the moment, it makeshifted as a changing table.

In fact, the whole room was sort of makeshift. There was no teddy bear wallpaper, no jungle animal decals or even any paint, and the only thing comfortable about it was the cushy crib Leo had been happy to dislodge from their storage space. After the super-early birth, which had occurred in the TARDIS, the baby had had to stay in an incubator for a couple of weeks. They had not taken him to hospital because his anatomy was not fully human, so they had had to tell Martha's parents that the little guy was in intensive care and was not allowed to have visitors. This nearly killed them, but they said they understood.

But as CJ got ready to breathe on his own, just before they released him from the incubator, the Doctor had come back to Martha's flat with Leo, and the two of them had cleaned out the guest room, set up the crib and bought a rocker from a second-hand store.

Because, for some reason, it had never occurred to any one of them that Martha's parents would want to come stay and help with the baby, and they couldn't have them coming to stay in a time-travelling Police Box that was bigger on the inside. So, while there was a brand-new, lovingly decorated nursery in the TARDIS parked in the back garden, they used this glorified walk-in closet as their son's bedroom, for appearance's sake, when the Joneses were about.

The baby was awake and calm, as it turned out, lying face-up, looking wide-eyed at his mother and grandmother, and refusing to be swaddled, as usual. He was wearing a yellow preemie-sized sleeper, and his hands were covered with linen mittens to keep him from scratching himself.

And he was glowing.

"Oh," Martha sighed. "Yeah. I see."

Neither of them knew what to say for several moments. The two just stared at the tiny person, illuminated as yellow dust swirled about him.

"Well," said Francine, clearing her throat awkwardly. "Have you ever seen this sort of thing before? Like, maybe, in your obstetrics or neonatal rotation?"

"Y-yeah," Martha said, her eyes suddenly snapping away from the baby to meet her mother's. "This is... yes, I've seen it before. It's nothing to worry about."

"Oh, good," Francine sighed. "I just wasn't sure."

And suddenly, baby CJ began to cry. He was six weeks old, and only weighed just over five pounds even now, so his cry wasn't loud. But it packed plenty of a punch for his mum, even at three in the morning, even when she was exhausted. So, Martha reached down and picked up the little guy.

"No, no, go back to sleep, honey," Francine said, trying to take the baby. "I'll get him back down again."

"I've got it, mum," Martha said beatifically, sitting down in the rickety rocking chair.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, then," said Francine. "You know where to find me."

* * *

The baby had stopped crying immediately when Martha had taken him up in her arms, and now he nestled between her elbow and breast and drifted off to sleep. She rocked in the semi-dark and stared at him, still in total disbelief of what she was seeing.

When he'd first been delivered, as they had read in the adult CJ's memoir, the Doctor had held the little, squirming, slippery thing and cried, almost crippled with emotion. For a few long minutes, he hadn't even found the wherewithal to wrap the baby in a blanket or cut the umbilical cord. He just sat with his elbows on his knees, and stared at the newborn in his hands through a veil of tears. He'd been stressed to the max over the inhumanly quick labour, over the earliness of it, and having to deliver the baby himself. He'd been moved to tears having seen how incredibly tiny he was, and over the prospect of being a father again. Babies are innocent, helpless, love personified...

...but mostly, Martha knew, when the Doctor looked at CJ, he saw the Mandala. This child was a _fixed point_, someone and some_thing_ that was destined to exist no matter what else the fates had to say. He was meant to have a certain life, to achieve greatness, the sort that would change the universe. It would have a ripple effect through time that would turn over on itself and culminate somewhere in the Doctor and Martha's past. His birth was like Vesuvius, the Battle of Hastings, the Atomic Bomb: an immutable axis around which so many other events rotated, reality might collapse without it.

And she knew that's what the Doctor saw, because six weeks ago, she could see it too. She could_ see_ the web of existence that surrounded her son, all the little threads and the things at which they tugged. His birth, his death, and every significant moment in-between. There would be a catastrophe in thirteen years that would separate him from his parents forever. There would be a woman whom he'd meet eighteen years from now who would shape his view of love and companionship, perhaps not for the better, but for the necessary. Without her friendship and eventual rejection, he could not become despondent nor independent enough to immerse himself in the biomedical research that would save the universe as we know it. Martha had _seen_ it.

Now, that view was waning. The ability to _know_ _instinctively_ the workings of time and the turn of the universe, it had been borrowed anyhow. It was a power that belonged to CJ - she had just been keeping it warm for him. She was not a Time Lord, but her son _was_, and difficult as it was to accept, she was slowly having to give up her perspective over Time and Space, her ability to read Gallifreyan, to fly the TARDIS, and frankly, to keep up with the Doctor intellectually.

She did not wish necessarily to keep that power for herself; that's not why it was difficult to accept losing it. It was difficult because as she watched the baby sleeping in her arms, she knew that as it left her, it went into him. All of that incredible knowledge and insight, the gift and horrible burden of it, they were all floating about in his little brain somehow. He would not have the language nor the context to understand it in any meaningful way for a few years, but it was _there_.

But she knew that it hadn't completely passed from her to him yet, because the baby was still glowing from time to time, as he was right now. The Doctor had said that with each regeneration, excess energy emanates from the body in surges, until the new life has had a chance to fully establish. In adult Time Lords, it's about fifteen to twenty hours. For a newborn, more like a month.

But CJ had been a preemie, so his hearts and lungs had not fully formed when he had emerged, and his mind had not yet assimilated all that it was meant to. As soon as all of his systems were stable, the excess regenerative energy would dissipate, but he would likely be three months old by then.

"What do you see?" she whispered to him as he slept, and the glowing dust settled gradually into the dark. "How much do you already know?"

* * *

Francine was careful not to make any noise as she shut the door to the baby's room. She was not surprised when she turned around to find the Doctor standing there in a tee-shirt and a pair of striped pyjama bottoms. When Martha had leapt out of one side of the bed, Francine had seen him out of the corner of her eye, very slowly getting to an upright position on the other side.

"Everything all right?" he asked, rubbing his eye and yawning.

Francine sighed, and stared at something just to the left of the Doctor's feet. She put her hands stoically at her sides and said, "He's glowing."

The grogginess left the Doctor all at once, and he felt hot with pressure. "Oh," he said before he'd had time to think. "That's..."

"Martha said she's seen it before in her obstetrics rotation," Francine said, still not making eye-contact. "Or maybe neonatal."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure she has," the Doctor told her.

Francine nodded. "I figured the two of you would know what it was, how to handle it."

"Yes, it's... normal... in a manner of speaking," he said, a little relieved. But only a little.

An awkward silence passed, and the Doctor finally asked, "I'm going to make some tea. Would you like some?"

"All right," she said.

"I forget - milk and sugar?"

"Just milk."

"Okay. Give me a few minutes," he said, heading for the kitchen.

As his hand pressed against the kitchen door, Francine spoke again. "Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

She spoke softly, calmly, without anger or malice. "Martha is an intelligent, ambitious and a fantastically, open, free spirit."

The Doctor seemed to look about the room a bit, to try and find whether he was missing something. After several seconds, he said, "Yes. Yes, she is."

"She has always been that way. And I don't know if you can see it or not, but for some reason, when she met you, she changed. I don't know why or how, but suddenly she abandoned medical school and became secretive about her life."

"I see."

"That made me angry."

"I had noticed that, yes. Well, my left cheek noticed."

She pretended she hadn't heard. "But I see things, Doctor. I see more than I think either of you give me credit for. I could see early-on that she loved you. Granted, for a long while, I couldn't see _why_, but that's neither here nor there."

The Doctor smiled a little.

"And yes, I railed against it, against you, even against the pregnancy, but eventually... well, I suppose you all thought I stopped squawking just to keep the peace, so I could be there, as a grandmother to your son."

"More or less"

"That's not why," she said. "Doctor, I like to think that when it comes to my children, I see everything."

"I understand," he said.

"Yes, I think you do."

He gulped, and said nothing.

"I love Martha, Tish and Leo with ever fibre of my being. And Martha loves you. I see the two of you together, and I can see real love in you as well, and I can see that that might be as good for her as finishing medical school, in the long run."

"Well, it's not like she has to choose."

"It's good to hear you say that," she told him, and indeed, he could hear the relief in her voice. "Over time, I've seen that you probably do want what's best for her, and you'll help her achieve it, whatever it may be."

"I will."

"So I accept the fact that we just call you _the Doctor_, without knowing your name or anything else about you."

"Thank you."

"And I've watched you, Doctor. You're a good father," she told him, swallowing hard. "A wonderful father, in fact. A very _natural _father. My gut tells me that this is because it's not the first time you've been a father, but I think... I think you're not ready to talk about that for whatever reason, and neither is Martha. But I accept that too, because CJ is loved and well cared-for, and that's all that should matter to me."

Heat was rising through his neck and cheeks again. "Thank you."

"I accepted that I couldn't see the baby until he was two-and-a-half weeks old, though my nephew's little girl was a preemie, and I was allowed in to visit _her_."

The Doctor could do nothing but nod. He stared at the floor.

Francine, very uncharacteristically, came close and took his hand.

"And Doctor, I've seen not only our lives, but I've seen what's been happening everywhere. I saw what happened to Big Ben, and on Christmas Eve a couple years ago, and the temporary hole in the ground that Royal Hope left when it went to the moon," she said.

"Yeah."

"So, I will also accept whatever excuse you and Martha decide to give me as to why my grandson is glowing in his crib. For now. But someday, Doctor - maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday soon - you and I will need to have a serious talk."

He nodded, barely perceptibly. "Okay."

"In the meantime," she said, squeezing his hand, a motherly smile forming. "Thanks for making tea."


	2. Chapter 2

**So... if you'll remember back to "Dress Code," when Tish finally forced the truth out of Martha, and found out everything about the Doctor's non-human origins and the TARDIS... just wanted to remind you so that this chapter doesn't jar you too much.**

**It will be easy to fixate on the issues with Francine, but trust me when I tell you, that bit is secondary to the real conflict. ;-)**

**This all seems very domestic, I know, but since writing the very first CJ story, I have had requests from readers to give a bit of a glimpse into their lives as they raise their son. Well, he's just a tiny guy now, but the process of raising a child begins when the child is just a "lump!" Sometimes, those are some of the fondest memories made. :-)**

**And it is setting up our adventure!, I promise. Whee! Enjoy!**

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Chapter 2

He made it out of his pyjamas, into his pin-striped trousers and dress shirt, but never all the way into his suit. For about an hour, he had both sleeves buttoned at his wrists, until it became necessary to scrub out the little yellow sleeper by hand, in the sink. For four hours that day, he wore a tie, until it became, quite suddenly and by necessity, an agent for catching spat-up milk. Now, sleeves rolled up round his forearms unevenly, the Doctor was having a good, rare zoning-out. Watching normal human television in a normal human flat, he wondered absently when he should actually lean forward, turn off the tube and usher them all into the TARDIS for the night. Martha was curled up on one end of the sofa, fast asleep, and the baby was strapped into a bouncy seat on the coffee table, within arm's reach of the Doctor, equally asleep. He wondered if perhaps he shouldn't just listen to his body and stay right where he was until further notice.

He actually groaned when the doorbell rang. Martha did not hear it. The baby did.

Amidst the crying, the Doctor almost ignored the bell, but ultimately decided, for peacemaking's sake, to answer the bloody door. But not before unstrapping the little one from the sling in which he was nestled. The Doctor stood up and pressed the baby to his chest so he could hear the dual heartbeat (admittedly, not duplicating what he'd have heard in the womb, but it would have to do), whispered a bit of a "shhh, don't wake your mum," to him, supported him by the bum, leaving the other hand available for door-opening.

The Doctor was a bit relieved to see Tish and Robert Oliver standing on the stoop, rather than, well, just about anyone else who was bound to turn up without calling. He smiled at them and made a gesture for quiet, the baby made a salutory gurgle, and Tish rushed past them straight toward the sofa where Martha lay. She shed her jacket upon the cushions then pumped a pea-sized dollop of green gel onto her hand from the little bottle on the desk. She rubbed in the sanitiser, then held out her hands and said, "Give him to me."

The Doctor smiled weakly and said, "Yes, ma'am," handing him over and trying not to feel any portents within this interchange. It was simply an aunt wanting to hold her baby nephew.

"Er, hello," Robert Oliver said in mock-awkward fashion. "We're here without calling!"

The Doctor smiled. "I see that. It's all right. Want me to take that? Whatever it is..."

"Oh, we brought Thai," Robert Oliver announced, seeming only then to remember he was carrying two large white bags. The Doctor took them and set them on the dining table. "Have you two eaten?"

"Well, sort of," the Doctor said, tugging at the hair on the back of his head. "It was a sort of... casserole... thing."

"Thing?" asked Tish.

"Well, there were some leftover potatoes, and some leftover broccoli and peas. There was a can of condensed soup in the pantry and I found some cheese in the back of the fridge that hadn't expired yet. And there may have been chicken," the Doctor said, trying to remember. "Martha just, you know... threw them in a pan. It was fine."

"Uh-huh," Tish said, unimpressed. "And when was that?"

"Erm, well, I think it was an hour or two ago," said the Doctor. He checked the clock on the wall, rather embarrassed at having lost track of time. "Or... say, _seven_ hours ago."

"Right," announced Tish, moving round to the side of the sofa where Martha lay. "It's time to eat. Martha?" She held the baby with both hands, and kneed her sister gently as she called her name.

Martha stirred. "What?"

"Do you want some Thai food?" asked Tish, moving back round to where the Doctor and Robert Oliver were now pulling styrofoam containers out of the bags. "I got you Drunken Noodles with shrimp."

"Where's the baby?" Martha asked, opening her eyes, and seeing the empty bouncy seat. There was no panic, just wonder.

"He stepped out for a cigarette," Tish said, matter-of-factly. "Come to the table."

Martha sat up and looked at her sister, now sitting down at the table. She stood up and padded over, feeling that Drunken Noodles might just hit the spot.

The Doctor reached out for the baby. "Why don't we put him in his seat?"

"No way!" Tish protested. "You eat. I'm having cuddle time!"

"Right," said Robert Oliver, shovelling rice into his mouth. "I'm next. Soon as I'm finished eating."

* * *

Much to Martha's surprise, it was only half-past seven in the evening when her sister and brother-in-law had turned up with dinner. After a good shot-in-the-arm of carbs, laughter and conversation with adults about adult things, she got a second wind. By 8:30, though, she reckoned that though CJ had long since gone back to sleep, even in being passed from person to person, it might be time to put him to bed.

"Want to help?" she asked Tish.

Martha flung a blanket over her shoulder to cover his face then stepped out into the cool night air. She and Tish walked across the garden to where the TARDIS was parked, beside the chain-link fence.

"This is still... ugh, just... _mad_," Tish mused, walking through the blue doors into the console room, looking about.

She had now visited the TARDIS several times, but had never quite got used to the impossible interior.

"Yeah, it's been a while since you've been inside," said Martha.

"I know," Tish complained. "Every time I come round lately, mum or dad are about, and we all have to pretend that CJ's supposed to live in that cupboard you call a nursery."

"Yeah," Martha said, her voice sagging a bit as they walked through the archway into the TARDIS' corridors. "I just... I don't know what to do about it. More so than ever, I feel terrible for lying to them, but then, what the hell am I supposed to say?"

"Well, if it helps, I'm pretty sure mum's onto you," Tish told her.

"I'm pretty sure she is too," Martha replied.

"She's been asking me a lot of questions."

Martha stopped walking and turned to face her sister. "Like what?"

"Stuff about aliens. Like, do I think Professor Lazarus was really human. And do I remember when Big Ben was damaged by that flying saucer, and do I know what was inside, you know, since I work in PR and all. And do I remember walking out onto the roof of the house last Christmas along with some of the neighbours, and almost throwing myself off, and do I think it had anything to do with that spaceship hovering over London..."

"Oh yeah, I'd forgotten about that," Martha said. "For the record, I have no idea the answer to that particular question. I do know the Doctor was there, though."

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Tish said darkly. "And it's what mum reckons, too. She always asks these questions, followed by questions about the Doctor. I tell her I don't know anything, and I act like I have no idea what she's getting at when she mentions aliens and him in the same conversation, but..."

"Thanks, Tish."

"You're welcome. Thank Heaven I'm a good liar," Tish granted. "But it's getting harder, Martha, and I don't think she believes me anyway. I think she knows you've told me things. She's not fooled anymore."

"I know," Martha admitted, beginning to walk again toward the baby's room. She pulled the blanket from her shoulder so she could see his sleeping face, and flung it over the other shoulder. "She woke me up this morning at three to tell me that the baby was glowing."

"Glowing?"

"Yeah. It's this thing that happens to Time Lords - they regenerate when they die. They carry around this _energy_ inside, and it's kind of this yellow-gold, glowy dust. The Doctor says that at the beginning of each new life, the energy has to take time to calibrate, and it escapes sometimes, or overflows. Until he assimilates everything he's supposed to, it will continue to happen."

"Did she freak out?"

"No, she just woke me up to show me, then gave me the opportunity to hand off a vague medical explanation, like I'm in-the-know 'cause I'm a med student... or was, once upon a time."

"Really? She _let you_ just lie to her?"

"Yep, practically asked me to. Probably just wanted to make sure the baby was okay, then didn't want to know anymore... yet."

"Wow!" Tish exclaimed. "I can't believe she didn't try to force the truth out of you."

"The truth is, though, Tish..." Martha began. "He's not supposed to glow."

"What, so you lied to her about him being okay, too?"

"No, he's still okay, it's just, we..." Martha stopped at that point. To explain further would give Tish too much information, and she and the Doctor already knew things _they_ weren't really meant to know. How much would it muck things up if Tish and Robert Oliver knew too much?

That was just the sort of question she'd have been able to answer for herself without any problem, six weeks ago, or even four. Now, the wheels of time were fading in her mind.

"Never mind," she said.

* * *

The Doctor and Robert Oliver came round the corner and started down the corridor, just as Martha was pulling the nursery door shut. They met somewhere about twenty feet from the baby's room.

"Well, I guess we did what we came to do," Tish sighed, looking at Robert Oliver. "Ready to go back to Fort Ephraim?"

"Yep," her husband responded. "Oh, did you tell Martha our idea?"

"Oh, I almost forgot," said Tish, turning to Martha. "And it's not so much an idea as a mandate. You two are going to have date night tomorrow night, and Robert Oliver and I will watch the baby."

Martha opened her mouth to speak, but nothing but a chuckle came out for a few moments. Followed by a full-out laugh. "This is a _mandate?"_

"Yes, CJ is six weeks old, it's time you two had a night away. We know where the bottles and bibs and nappies are, and now that we know it's fine if he starts glowing..." Tish lectured.

"Glowing?" asked Robert Oliver.

"...it should be easy-peasy."

Martha looked at the Doctor. "What do you say?"

"I think it's a good idea," he said, a bit disbelieving that he was having a conversation about a pre-scheduled _date night_. The whole thing seemed impossibly pedestrian to him, impossibly _domestic. _

Well, now, perhaps _that_ is why this was a good idea. He was starting to feel just a bit stir-crazy. Having contempt for the _domestic, _at this point in his life, was not a good sign.

"Where would we go?" Martha asked him, looking genuinely confused.

"Anywhere!" Tish said. "Go out to dinner, then catch a West End show. Or a film! Go to a park and have a picnic! Or just lock yourselves in the TARDIS all night and do what comes naturally! Do I have to think of _everything_?"

"The bottom line is, we don't care _where_ you go," Robert Oliver explained. "Just go there together, without the little one. We'll even take him overnight, won't we, Tish?"

"Absolutely," she agreed.

"We'll do it," the Doctor said, before Martha could ask more questions and complicate things further. "Thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Hooray for spring break, and time to write! Hope this chapter fills you with the spirit of adventure!**

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Chapter 3

Tish, Robert Oliver, and even the Doctor, practically had to _shove_ Martha out the door. She did want a night out, but she just couldn't stop _talking._ She wanted to prepare the babysitters for any contingency - she was now both a new mother and a burgeoning medical professional, a combination which made her want to be one of the most cautious people on the planet.

After she and the Doctor were both already dressed, with their coats on, he took a tube of goo out of her hand and set it on the coffee table, saying, "Martha, I don't think he's going to develop eczema while we're at dinner. Let's go."

She sighed, "Okay, fine, but..."

"No," he cut her off. "Shh. Door. Now." He led her by the shoulders to the back garden.

However, as they hurried out and Tish approached behind them to wave good-night, he silently slipped her a bit of card with a mobile phone number scratched out in his hand, and the words, "Call us. No hospitals."

Martha walked down the garden path toward the little stone garage that housed her car. "I'm sorry," she was saying. "I guess I'm just new at this. I know that they know where the bottles are and how to change a nappy and sing lullabies. It's just that, so much of what we do is _feeling it out_, you know? No matter how many guide books you have, taking care of your own baby is instinctual, and I didn't really know that until he was actually _here, _and I..."

She stopped talking because she realised that the Doctor was no longer behind her. She halted in her tracks and spun around to look.

And there he was. When the garden path had veered to the left, he had gone right and headed for the TARDIS. He now stood in front of it, shadowed just so, Converse-clad feet apart, brown suit fully on, with the two top coat buttons done. His hands were in his trouser pockets, pushing the light brown duster coat back from his hips. He stared into her with brown eyes that she suddenly understood had seen _quite enough_ domestic life for the moment, and were positively _wild_ to get the hell out of here for a while.

She had climbed back into her favourite red leather jacket tonight, tossed aside months ago when her body shape would no longer allow her to zip it up. But as symbols of re-finding herself went, it could not compare. The sight of him made her breath hitch just a little, and made her heart and stomach flutter a whole lot. In blinding flash of blue box and pin-stripes, of time, space, wonder, adventure and fantastic hair, she was that girl again. She was the student in an alley after her brother's birthday party, being utterly dazzled and asked to run away with the most exciting man in the universe. For a few moments, the last eight-and-a-half months faded away. There had been no intergalactic plague, no painful knowledge, and no baby. The Doctor and Martha were just ready to run, jump and tackle the universe, and do it with adrenalines pumping, their _feelings_ bubbling dangerously, just beneath the surface.

She felt herself blush as these thoughts washed over her, all in a few seconds, and she looked away from him.

And he saw it then, too. He saw the coyness come back in the _do I dare_ smile, as she turned her head and averted her eyes. When she recovered herself a bit, she began to walk forward slowly, and he actually recognised _hesitation_ in her body language. This was something she had not exhibited in ages, at least not when approaching him. It gave him a slight sickly pang of guilt, remembering a time when he was too dull to see her for how spectacular she really was. It was a time when she did wonder _do I dare_, and she did feel coy and sheepish with him, and did avert her eyes from looking him over too closely, and did hesitate sometimes when she approached.

But a part of him liked it, if for no other reason than, it made her eyes flash with mystery.

"What are you doing?" she asked as the soles of her high-heeled boots padded softly across the little patch of lawn.

"I'm going for Japanese food. What are _you_ doing?" He smirked.

They _had_ decided on Japanese, since Martha had not been able to eat undercooked meats during her pregnancy and had missed it. She was a sashimi fan, and had decided that it, more so than fine wine and soft cheese, was what she wanted for her first night away from the baby.

"I was planning on Japanese as well," she said softly. "Is there some reason why we cannot do that in my car?"

"Well, our reservations are at eight o'clock," the Doctor replied. "Driving to Tokyo in a car probably wouldn't get us there on time."

She chuckled. "You made reservations in Tokyo?"

"Of course," he shrugged. "If you're going to have sashimi for the first time in eight months, we're going to do it one hundred per cent right. I did my homework, love."

She giggled and stepped aboard the TARDIS, for the first time in six weeks with adventure in her heart.

* * *

Springtime in Tokyo was pleasant. The restaurant was not fancy, but it was purported to have the best country-style sashimi-curry bowls this century.

The place was brightly-lit, partly open-air, and perched on the eighth floor of a commercial building in the heart of the city. The décor was of a style that Martha thought of as "Japan chic;" smatterings of blue neon, rounded chrome, no right angles. Above the restaurant, there were hive-like flats that Martha imagined were probably the size of her kitchen in London. There were families with children at just about half the tables, and Martha noticed that the two of them were the only non-Japanese in the room. The host sat them at a tiny table for two, just beneath the archway where restaurant became sky. Five feet to Martha's right, and they would have been sitting completely outside.

"Next time, I promise to take you someplace quiet, with wine and candles and a pianist," said the Doctor with a smile. "This time, I thought the food should take precedence over atmosphere."

"No complaints," Martha chirped. "I like this!"

They ordered steamed edamame and apéritif-style soba noodles in tiny cups for appetizers. For dinner, they each ordered a different rice-fish bowl, with a different sauce and different vegetable accessories. Martha was practically salivating at the thought of the raw tuna and salmon medley to come.

Within a minute of ordering, a family was seated across the adjacent aisle, to Martha's right. It was a mother and father, both of whom looked like they were no more than nineteen, and a chubby baby girl, in an orange tee-shirt dress with ruffled sleeves and pink gingham pockets. She was chewing on her fist, and kicking her feet happily. She was wearing one plastic pink shoe, and her father carried the other shoe, as though she had dropped it on the way in.

"Oh... open air? Do you think it will be too cold for her?" asked the mother.

"Just put her sweatshirt on, she'll be fine," said the father, already sitting down.

The mother shrugged and handed the girl to the father. She sat down on the opposite chair and dug into her shoulder bag, while the host went to fetch a baby seat. The mother pulled a little grey hoodie from the bag, and stood up, then stooped to put it on the baby. By the time she was finished, the host had returned with a high-chair, and the father put the baby in it. He adjusted the straps and buckled it across her lap.

At that, the little girl screamed and began tugging at the strap. The parents tried to lull her, offering her gummy treats and tiny ball-shaped biscuits, but to no avail. Finally, the father unsnapped the strap and the little girl quieted.

Martha couldn't help but stare. The girl's father caught her.

"She's adorable," Martha said, a little embarrassed. "How old is she?"

"Thanks! She's eight months old," said the father. "Rebellious like she's sixteen!"

Martha smiled.

The little girl turned and looked at Martha, and stared. She now chewing on a fish-shaped gummy.

"Hi, there," Martha said, waving at her. "Are you enjoying your fishy?"

Something in Martha's face tickled the little girl, and she smiled widely and gave a beautiful little cackle that practically brought Martha to tears.

The adults all shared a laugh, then turned back to their own tables, and Martha's smile faded.

"You all right?" asked the Doctor.

"Just... can't help but see the future in every child I look at. I mean," she corrected quickly, gesturing toward the eight-month-old across the aisle. "The not-too-distant future. Like, say, seven months from now!"

"But that's a nice future!" the Doctor said, also indicating the little girl and her laugh. But Martha's quick covering of her tracks had betrayed the fact that she was thinking about the slightly-more-distant future. "But I know what you meant." He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

She paused, sighing heavily. "Doctor, yesterday morning when my mum woke us up..." she began.

"Martha, I still don't know the answer," the Doctor interrupted. He was smiling slightly, the way one does when one is trying to find the humour in someone asking _what time is it_ every two minutes, rather than being annoyed. "I have no idea why CJ glows sometimes. Been a bit too busy to do the research. It's not going to hurt him - we'll figure it out."

"No, that's not what I was going to ask," she said. "I was just wondering... did she say anything to you while I was putting CJ back to sleep?"

"Your mum? About what?"

"About the glowing. About any of the other weird things we do."

"Yeah, she did," the Doctor admitted. "Why?"

"I thought she might have," Martha muttered. "Tish and I talked about this last night - we're pretty sure she's onto us."

"Oh, yeah, definitely," the Doctor said sprightly. He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. "She made that amply clear."

"What exactly did she say?"

"I don't remember her exact words - some of it was semi-accusatory, some of it was surprisingly conciliatory. But the bit you're asking about, it was something about how she's more savvy than anyone gives her credit for, and she's seen all the alien rubbish happening in her backyard over the past several years, and that someday soon, she and I are going to have a serious chat."

"Did she threaten you or anything?"

"No, no," the Doctor assured her. "In fact she said I was a good father, and _voluntarily_ touched me. It was kind of sweet."

"So, she just wants to take you to task for being non-human."

"She just wants to talk, Martha. She's clearly not ready right now, but someday, like she said, soonish..."

Martha let out an exasperated exhale, and characteristic of the Doctor, she pulled one hand down over her face in a _feeling buggered_ gesture. She sat for a few seconds and seemed to watch a bird that had landed on one of the restaurant's open-air rails, bordered by a few square feet of foliage. Then, to his surprise, she said, "Well, I suppose that's fair enough."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"But what the hell would we say? I mean, where would we even begin?"

"Well, I thought about that all yesterday," the Doctor began. "And I reckon, unless she comes at him with a stethoscope, she's not terribly likely to see or hear anything _else_ that makes CJ seem non-human, at least until he learns to talk. But, she might see the glowing again. So, if it does happen again in her presence, maybe that would be a good place to start, a good opportunity to open up communication without it being too jarring for anyone involved."

"Yeah, the glowing. But what would we even tell her about _that_, Doctor? I know we have already covered the fact that you don't know why it's happening, but that's just the problem. You can explain about regenerative energy until you're blue in the face, and talk to her all about your previous lives, but you know that the next question out of her mouth will be, 'so, my grandson is going to regenerate when he dies?' and we know that the answer is _no_. He will not."

The Doctor nodded slowly, waiting for her to continue.

Instead of continuing, she asked, "We do _know_ that, don't we?"

She did know, or rather, she _used to know_, back when she had CJ's Time Lord mojo at her disposal. These days, she had memories of what she had learned from those experiences, but she had very little of that native sense anymore.

As it stood, she remembered reading CJ's memoir from sixty years into the future, and she remembered being pregnant and _knowing_ which parts of his life were immutable. They were fixed moments in time that could not be altered, at the peril of destroying great swathes of the universe. His birth, conception and _singular _death in a basement, while trying to save galaxies from a nasty plague, those were all part of that unchangeable framework. The events in-between were a delicate web that would lead the child into adolescence into adulthood into his life's and death's work... and finally, into a time when his young(ish) parents would unwittingly work alongside him and complete the work that he started. The tragedies and heartaches of his life would shape him, and thus, somewhat shape the universe.

"Yes, we know that," the Doctor replied.

"So, then what do we say? We don't even know what to tell _ourselves_ about that!"

"I don't know, Martha."

"I mean, do we even tell her that we know stuff about CJ's future? Do we share any of it with her? I mean, you and I are not even really meant to know all that, and I've already told Tish more than I probably should have."

"I don't know."

"Doctor, we are going to have to decide on what to tell my mother, and what to keep from her, before we can even _think_ about having that talk with her. She's going to ask a million questions, so..."

"Martha? I agree that this is a fairly grave question to deal with, but tonight, could we not just enjoy the food, and leave dealing with families and aliens for another night?"

And a split second before they saw the creature, they heard the screams and the dishes hitting the floor, breaking.

A grey, spindly, frog-like thing, about five feet tall when fully extended, careened into view and landed on the floor between their table and that of the young family with the eight-month-old girl. The thing turned to the Doctor, opened its grotesquely large, bulbous eyes and hissed, causing the Doctor to recoil a bit. He stumbled to a standing position, knocking his chair to the floor along with those of many others who were fleeing the scene.

The funny thing was, the creature had been totally oblivious to any other person in the room, had not made eye-contact with, nor stopped to hiss at, anyone else.

The young family was staring at the thing incredulously, frozen to their chairs with disbelief and fear. Suddenly, it snatched the baby girl into its grotesquely skinny grey arms. She screamed and melted into a horrified cry. The parents were now on their feet, reaching out, trying to offer a panicked sort of reasoning to the creature. All at once, it turned and hissed at the Doctor, then it fled to the other side of the restaurant, perched for a moment on the railing and then crawled across the short patch of garden, and leapt from the eighth floor.

The girl's mother fell to her knees in the middle of the aisle screaming, and the father didn't know whether to comfort her or go after their girl.

The Doctor dashed to the rail where the creature had leapt, but there was no trace of it, nor of the baby it had taken.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The father of the kidnapped girl ran to the edge of the restaurant, joining the Doctor in staring incredulously down at the street, eight stories below. No-one seemed bothered in the least, nor even looked up. The creature had taken the baby, leapt off, and disappeared.

The two men looked at each other with wide eyes. After a few seconds, the Doctor regained his focus and put his hand on the man's shoulder and started to lead him back to the part of the restaurant where his wife was curled in a little ball, sobbing. Martha had both arms around the woman's shoulders and was whispering to her, but the grief was overwhelming, Martha knew, and she was fairly certain the girl's mother couldn't hear her.

All around them, people were crying, milling, talking on the phone, texting, and pulling their children close. No-one except the Doctor and Martha made any attempt at the moment to interact with the stricken parents. That was fine with them, since they knew without even speaking to one another that _they_ and _they alone_ would be the ones to deal with this particular crisis. Clearly, the creature that had taken the baby girl was not of this planet... and it had hissed at the Doctor.

As Martha tried to lull the girl's mother, and replayed the events in her mind, she wondered if the little girl had been taken only because they didn't have CJ with them. If the grey frog-thing had been targeting the Time Lord, which was not out of the realm of possibility, then this young family had merely been in an extremely unfortunate place at an extremely unfortunate time.

The Doctor had been wondering the same thing. He pulled a mobile phone from his pocket and dialled. While he waited for an answer, he knelt beside Martha and whispered, "We need to find out everything we can before the police turn up." Martha nodded subtly.

The Doctor's phone call made a connection. "Tish? Hi, have you missed me? So we've been gone less than an hour, and we have a crisis on our hands... Yeah, welcome to life with us. We're going to need you to keep an extra-close eye on the little guy... Well, a little girl was taken, and..." He stood up and wandered away to continue the phone call.

Meanwhile, the little girl's father knelt to hug the mother.

Martha dashed over to the abandoned server's station and came back with a pen and a pad of paper. She re-took her place, kneeling with the parents. The mother was still hysterical, so she addressed the father.

"Sir, my name is Martha Jones. My partner and I are going to help you get your daughter back."

"You are?"

"Absolutely. What are your names?"

"Oh, I'm Naoki Fujikawa, and this is my wife, Miyeko."

Martha jotted that down. "I'll need to speak with your wife eventually, but I can wait for her to calm. Do you think she saw the thing when it appeared on the ledge?" she asked, trying to sound official.

"I think she did," said Naoki. "I saw a... _surprised_ look on her face just a second or two before I heard noises and saw... it. What was that thing?"

"I don't know," she said. "Probably... er, a government experiment gone wrong." It sounded lame, even to her.

"Whose government would that be?" Naoki asked, just a little horrified, looking suspiciously at her, and then at the Doctor.

"Well, it's our job to find that out, sir."

"Your job? Who the hell _are_ you?"

"We investigate stuff like this," she said hastily. "Don't worry about it - we're completely on your side. Our first priority is to get your little girl back to you."

"And you just _happened_ to be here?"

"Life is full of coincidences, Mr. Fujikawa. Now, where had you been, immediately before coming to the restaurant?"

"In our flat," he said pointing up at the honeycomb of flats that loomed above the restaurant. "We just moved here, thought we would see if this restaurant could be a regular haunt for us."

"So, you live here in the building?" she asked, writing down what he had said. "Had you ever seen anything suspicious before today? Felt you were being followed or stalked? Had anyone ask strange questions about your daughter?"

"No," he said. "Just you, a little while ago."

"Ah," she replied, blushing. "I've just had a baby myself - sorry about that. I didn't mean anything by it, it's just that I couldn't help but be moved by her. I should have known it was rude, and..."

She trailed off because she noticed that the mother, Mrs. Miyeko Fujikawa, had calmed and was now looking at her.

"You're a mother?" asked Miyeko.

"Yep. Brand-new one," Martha said with a smile.

This revelation seemed to make the grieving woman feel a bit better. "Where is your baby?"

"At home, with his aunt and uncle."

Miyeko nodded sadly. "Good. They'll keep him safe?"

"Yes," Martha assured her.

The woman nodded sadly again, with some finality, and determination on her face.

The Doctor had finished his phone call and had returned. He knelt along with them and listened.

"Mrs. Fujikawa, had _you_ noticed anything odd? I mean, in the last week or two. Being watched, stalked anything like that?" Martha asked gently.

"Actually, yes," said the woman, sniffing and drying tears on her sleeve. "Two days ago at the park. I was walking Haruka in her stroller on the way to the infant play area, and I thought I felt eyes on us. Like something was lurking behind the flower boxes. A couple of times, I turned, but there was nothing there."

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Naoki.

"I thought it was just my imagination," she told him, her voice breaking. "I didn't actually _see _anything - there was nothing to tell! You know how sometimes you think you hear a noise, or see something move out of the corner of your eye..."

"Wait, sorry," the Doctor said, putting out his hand to stop all chatter. His eyes were shut tight as he spoke again. "Did you say you were walking with _Haruka_ in the park when you felt eyes on you?"

"Yes," said Miyeko.

The Doctor's eyes flew open. "That's your daughter's name?"

"Yes."

"The eight-month old? The one who was just taken?"

"Yes."

"Haruka?" he asked slowly, syllable by syllable, just to clarify.

"Yes! What of it?" asked the father loudly.

The Doctor and Martha looked at each other meaningfully.

The Doctor began again. "Can you tell me if there were any other times when you felt surveilled, or that you were not alone, or that someone was trying to get at your daughter?"

* * *

Someone had called the police when the incident had occurred, of course, and five officers were on the scene within ten minutes. They began an inquest, asking questions that would lead them nowhere, and promising to embark upon a tireless search that the seasoned space-time-travellers knew would turn up nothing. Nevertheless, the Fujikawas, Martha, the Doctor and a few other eyewitnesses answered some inquiries for the investigators, who were behaving as though everyone in the restaurant had gone mad at once.

To the Doctor and Martha's surprise and relief, the Fujikawas said nothing to the police about _them:_ the strange foreign couple who were so keen on helping in this incredibly weird circumstance. No mention to local law-enforcement of people who just happened to be there, in the restaurant, sitting beside them, talking to them about their daughter, at the moment when their daughter was taken.

The Doctor, now knowing who their daughter was, and how she was connected to them, wondered if these people were entirely what they seemed. Perhaps they were a part of something larger, perhaps even not entirely human themselves, and had knowledge that the Doctor saved people from things like this.

Or, he wondered, perhaps a field of timey-wimey debris had come to fruition when they had arrived in the vicinity of Martha and the Doctor, and it manifested as a psychic connection of some sort.

Or maybe they were just clever. They could see the situation for what it was (bizarre beyond their own beliefs), could see that two strangers, who were a bit bizarre themselves, were stepping in when no-one else would. The two strangers were _confident_ in their ability to bring back Haruka, whereas the police acted as though they didn't believe any of it had actually occurred.

As a being who could actually sense and see the threads between the fabric that held reality together, he dismissed any idea that they were anything other than a normal human couple, albeit an intelligent couple, who happened to be destined to get involved in something ugly.

And so, the terrified mother and father rode up eight more stories in the lift, holding each other, in silence. Beside them, a Time Lord and his human companion stood, wordlessly carrying baby Haruka's supplies. Martha had picked up the shoulder bag and the mother's jacket, while the Doctor balanced in his hands two board books about a bunny with a marshmallow head, a plastic container filled with tiny spherical biscuits, a mechanical monkey toy and a crumpled children's menu. A small plastic bag of gummy fish had got shoved in his pocket, along with the notepad Martha had taken from the restaurant. They went back to the Fujukawas' flat, and had tried as best they could to put away the supplies while Naoki put his near-catatonic wife to bed. They had slipped out with a promise not to rest until Haruka was back safe with her parents.

* * *

Back in the TARDIS, Martha tore her way up the ramp and passed the console, making a beeline for the archway that led to the back halls. They had not spoken to one another since leaving the Fujikawas, but now, Martha burst out with, "Okay, I suppose it goes without saying that this isn't any bloody coincidence."

"Nope, no coincidence," the Doctor agreed, following her, though not sure where she was headed.

She turned left at the first corridor.

"A girl named Haruka, of all things, who is only a few months older than our son, gets stalked by Gollum, and then kidnapped _right in front of us_?" she shouted. Her voice echoed off the walls around them as she walked.

"I know."

She made another left, which put them in the kitchen. She headed for the fridge and opened it with irritation. "I'm going to make a sandwich. Want one?"

"Yeah, sure," said the Doctor, realising he was quite hungry, since their dinner had been derailed and they hadn't eaten since lunch. He parked himself on one of the bar stools with his head in his hands and absently watched her work, which she did in silence for a few minutes.

While spreading mustard on a slice of bread, she stopped suddenly and stared at the countertop. "Doctor, do you think we can go back to your friend Lincomb, and pick up CJ's memoir?"

"We could," he said through a forest of fingers over his face. "But it might cause some wonky time... stuff."

"We'll keep it away from CJ himself, of course. I mean, I'm no Time Lord, but even I know that much."

The Doctor shrugged. "If we have to go get it, then I guess we will."

"Or... couldn't we call him and ask specific questions about the memoir, and have him look it up for us?"

"That would probably be better, but only if we have to."

Martha stared off into space for a few seconds. Then, "I'm not crazy, right? I mean, that woman's name _was _Haruka, wasn't it?"

"As far as I can remember," he agreed, now leaning on his elbows.

Martha shut her eyes tight, trying to remember. "She wears purple jeans with hearts on the back pockets when she and CJ first meet at Cambridge. And he completely falls for her but she's still hung up her ex-boyfriend who was some kind of Chinese insurgent... and she is never to return his love. Right?"

"I don't remember the Chinese insurgent," the Doctor muttered.

"I do, because at the time when I read it, I was feeling the same way," she reminded him. "I was in love, and you were hung up."

"Okay, well, the gist sounds right. Unrequited love and bitterness. Welcome to the world, son."

"Did CJ give her last name in the memoir?"

"It doesn't matter, Martha. What are the odds it's _not_ her?"

"That's what I thought, too."

"And even if it's a coincidence, does that mean we're not going to try and rescue her? If we find out she's just a _random_ Haruka, and not _CJ's _Haruka?"

"No, of course not," she conceded, continuing to mustard the bread. "But it would make the process a lot less delicate if we're not worried about keeping future events intact for the sake of the universe."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

After some nearly-silent sandwiches, they headed back to their normal base-of-operations/thinking place: the console room.

"I hope you told Tish it might be a while," Martha said.

"Yep," he sighed. "I also asked her not to leave him alone, even just to put him in his crib."

"Good," she said to him with finality, looking at him with a mixture of determination and fear. "Did you tell her why?"

"Yes, I did," he said. "I say, with Tish and Robert Oliver, from now on, it's full disclosure."

"I agree. Although, if some extraterrestrial _thing_ came after him, I'm not sure what either of them could do about it."

"True, but knowledge is power, and your sister and her spouse are awfully clever. And at the very least, they will turn and run, take cover, put up a good fight."

Truthfully, the Doctor had more faith in Tish and Robert Oliver than Martha did. He had seen first-hand dozens and dozens of times how clever humans rise to the occasion, even when they have no idea what's coming after them or how to fight it. Especially when something important was at stake.

He'd seen plenty of humans stand still and get slaughtered as well, but this was _Martha's sister_, they were talking about. Flesh and blood to the only woman in the whole universe he trusted with his life and hearts. Aunt Tish and Uncle Robbo would do just fine.

Martha's perspective on the topic was somewhat more narrow, but she nodded anyway. Considering the Doctor's words, she supposed that this was the best they could do for reassurances, without venturing into self-placating territory.

They took a pause to try and seal off their worries about their own son for the moment, and mentally shift gears.

"So," she said, clapping in a _let's go_ sort of way. "What the hell _was_ that thing?"

"You mean _Gollum?_" he asked with a smirk, referring to what she had called it a little while before.

"Yeah. Had you ever seen anything like that before?"

He nodded. "It was a Elliwoner Gesirg Mercenary," he told her. "Elliwoner is literally an entire planet filled with criminals-for-hire. Bombers, murderers, rapists, thieves, con-artists... all manner of nasties, including, you guessed it: kidnappers. Each lovely crime has literally _evolved as a species_, and Gesirg means _child-stealer _in their anguage."

"It's a _species_ of child-stealers? Well, that's a special kind of wrong."

"Yep. The Gesirg can, as you saw, climb and leap rather gracefully, so as not to damage the victim, get in and out of tight places, sometimes quietly, sometimes not, depending on the need. And weirdly, they are very good with children. That's how they keep from getting caught straight away. They are able to calm the child, and then keep them quiet until the good guys give up."

Martha gritted her teeth. "Oh, give me a weapon and show me where to point it."

He frowned. "Wouldn't help. The Gesirg itself has no interest in Haruka, or in CJ, or any other child for that matter. Someone who _does_ have an interest hired it. In fact, I would be very surprised if the Gesirg even still has Haruka in its possession at this stage. Elliwoners are experts - quick and efficient. It would have handed her off to the client by now."

"So we find out who the client is."

"We do."

There was a silence. Then, "Is it possible to track... communications avenues?" she asked.

"Yes, but the Elliwoner cloak their correspondence, for exactly this reason! If we knew _with whom_ they communicated, we would have a shot, since the Elliwoner don't really have any control beyond signals outside, oh, about a hundred-thousand mile radius around their atmosphere."

"How about the Phlotigo Galaxy? I mean, it would give us a place to start looking. If we could track something that came from there, down to that hundred-thousand-mile area outside Elliwoner... what do you think?"

A light bulb went on in the Doctor's muddled brain. He hadn't considered the Phlotigo beings. "Oh! I suppose we could try!"

"I mean, they have an interest in CJ, we know _that _for sure," she reasoned, rather darkly, remembering how they had tried to cloak themselves, their son and their family members to keep Phlotigans from finding CJ in thirteen years' time. She continued after a pause, "Plus, they're not corporeal and we already know that they can waft consciousnesses about... farther than... well... right?"

"Farther than I thought they could, that's for sure," the Doctor said, distractedly typing commands into the TARDIS' computer. "And being non-corporeal actually makes their communication more sloppy, and might make it easier to nail down."

"Okay, so, what if they somehow got literal 'wind' of CJ's memoir, or just _the fact _that there's this Haruka person who plays a role in his life? And they would need help stealing _anything_ since they're basically made of ectoplasm and _thoughts_."

The Doctor wasn't actually listening to her, but rather, was trying to get the TARDIS to home in on communications signals that had come from the Phlotigo Galaxy in the last few weeks.

"What's wrong?" she asked, seeing the deep furrow in his brow. She came round behind him to see what was happening on the screen, but found that the Gallifreyan script looked like nothing but Art-Deco loops to her, once again. She had not bothered to try and read any data on the TARDIS' screen since giving birth. She cursed under her breath, finding that she missed being able to keep up with the Doctor, even in this small way.

"I can't lock onto any communications signals going to or from the Phlotigo Galaxy," he said. "Okay, back to the source. If I can lock onto the galaxy itself, and its oscillating frequency, then I can..."

He typed for a few seconds, then waited. A new set of data eventually appeared upon the screen in characters Martha could not understand. The Doctor's jaw dropped, and he buried his hands in his hair.

"What's wrong?" Martha repeated.

"It's gone," he whispered.

"What's gone?"

"The Phlotigo Galaxy. It's just... gone."

She looked in vain at the screen and squinted. "What do you mean, how could it be gone?"

"It was destroyed," he told her. "Two months ago. A war with the Rocheran Conglomerate. Just, poof. Shortest war in history. Cranked up a conflict and wiped them all out in an afternoon."

"Oh my God," she groaned, still frowning, squinting at a screen showing data that seemed like nonsense to her.

Her mind searched to make sense of this. She did not want to consider the possibility that they would now have to investigate _someone else_ messing with their lives. Although, having just carried and given birth to the first Time Lord born in a couple hundred years, she reckoned she shouldn't be surprised.

They would be forced to get used to another planet/species/people who might be after their son, and by extension, his future love interest. _A new _threat from which they would have to conceal him in thirteen years. They would have to learn a new objective, new M.O., a new method of cloaking, a new regimen to teach their son for how to stay safe when he's away from them. She had not realised until now just how disturbingly comfortable she had become with the idea that the Phlotigo beings were targeting CJ, and that _they _would be the ones to drive the adolescent boy into the home of his aunt and uncle. They were a _known entity_; Martha understood their ways, knew their quirks and weaknesses, and what to do about them.

But now?

She felt exhausted and frightened all at once. And they couldn't just take the full thirteen years to work it out. They had a tiny little girl to save from God Knew What, and she needed saving _now_, so she and her parents could get on with their lives.

And so, her mind turned to start rationalising.

"Wait," she said. "You and I learned rather recently, rather spectacularly, that the domicile of an entire species can be destroyed, and a few stragglers can survive! Isn't that what happened with the planet Azu? The off-worlders made it out alive when the planet blew up because they were off-world. And Gallifrey! You survived because you're a traveller! Michelangelo survived too! And he was convinced there were others! Isn't it possible that some Phlotigans survived because they weren't there when the galaxy was destroyed?"

The Doctor sighed. "Maybe."

"So, maybe there are some Phlotigans still around, who decided to carry on the grand tradition of screwing with us, and hired the Gesirg."

"I supposed I can look into it," he said. "I _could_ readjust the energy-detection to pick up _genres_ in a wider field rather than narrowing for _locales_."

Martha had no idea what that meant, but in spite of his reluctant, not-too-hopeful tone, she held out that hope. It was a weird feeling to _hope_ that the Phlotigans were still on CJ's case, but considering what else could be out there, she knew she was right to try and see that thin silver lining.

* * *

After five hours, the Doctor's wider-net search had gone nowhere. He was showing signs of fatigue, since these days, he had to do this sort of thing on his own. He would never tell her so, but he sorely missed the days when Martha was infused with the Time Lord consciousness. She would have been able to read the computer's display, "feel out" the TARDIS' equipment like he was doing now, and recognise the signs of a Phlotigo detection. It had been ever so handy to share the heavy lifting with her.

But as it stood now, he just yawned, reminded of how they both had had their normal amount of sleep significantly reduced by a newborn.

"Oi, go to bed," he heard Martha say. He must have nodded off. She had both hands on his arm, squeezing gently.

"What?" he asked, sitting suddenly upright on the leather stool in the console room.

"Go to bed. I'll take over."

The Doctor blinked a few times at her, then looked at the console, and the equipment he'd been using. "But... you can't."

"Not here," she told him. "I'm going to hit the library. I remember how it's organised. I may not be a Time Lord anymore, but I can still read, and the TARDIS can still translate inside my mind. Everything except Gallifreyan, right?"

He blinked again, absently noticing that his mouth was dry. "Aren't you tired? Why don't we both get some rest?"

"I've been asleep for the last four hours," she informed him. "I slipped off for a kip a while back, since I'm useless with all that intangible time-space rubbish now. I was working at the top of my game when I worked out that the communications channel _might_ have come from the Phlotigo. Once you started working, I was falling asleep standing up, so I went to bed."

"Oh. Why didn't you say something?"

"I did. I said, _Doctor, I'm going to bed._ And you said, _Yep - see you. _I guess I shouldn't be too surprised you don't remember. Now... go get some sleep. I'll wake you in four hours, and/or if I find anything... whichever comes first."

* * *

Martha, with a little help from the TARDIS, spent some time reading about the Phlotigo galaxy, but it read like a combination of astrophysics and history textbooks. The inception of the universe, the gathering of gases by a far-off gravitational pull, the rotation of debris and the resultant evolving oscillating energy frequencies. The origins of consciousness on the oldest planets, the very peculiar evolution of thought, leadership, war, peace, exploration, relationships with neighbouring galaxies and constellations...

None of it was much help.

Eventually, she gave up and tried a new tack. She searched by _topic_, rather than by specific planetary region, and managed to find a text that discussed the quantum-physics of sentient life in the universe, which included a section on non-corporeal beings.

"Bingo," she said out loud, as her finger slipped down the Table of Contents, finding precisely the thing she needed.

The more she read, the more she became discouraged, and felt that uncomfortable feeling once again. The idea that an unknown entity was now mucking about with their son's life re-entered, and took up residence, in her mind. Again, she was slightly appalled at how she _hoped_ that some Phlotigo being was still floating around out there somewhere and was making sport of CJ. She was learning, however, that her protective motherly feelings were visceral, and always justifiable, though often very odd.

"You okay?" the Doctor asked, approaching from behind.

She jumped. "Oh, hi. Did you get enough sleep?" she asked, glancing at her watch.

"Yep," he responded, bending down to sit beside her on the floor. "Did you? You look sort of pale."

She sighed. "I feel... well, is it weird that I _wanted_ the Phlotigo beings to have hired Gesirg so that we don't have to learn about _something new_ and deal with a whole new set of problems for our son?"

"No, it's not weird. It's the devil you know, versus the devil you don't."

"Well, I think there's a devil we don't," she said. "Does this mean what I think it means?"

She handed him the text, and indicated the section that had dashed her hopes. She wasn't a genius at quantum-physics, exactly, but she knew enough to know...

The Doctor took a pause, and said, "This means that non-corporeal beings, in their nature, are psychically linked to a home-base of sorts. And since their entire existence basically consists of psychic energy, manifesting once in a while as ectoplasm, then it means they're physically tied to their home-base, as well, almost as a somatic condition."

"So the Phlotigans will be literally materially connected to the Phlotigo Galaxy, wherever they go," she said. "Such as _material_ is for them."

"Yes."

"And a physical connection means that if the galaxy is destroyed, then so are they, even if they are across the universe when it happens."

"Yes."

"So, it's impossible for any of them to have survived."

"Yes."

"That's what I thought," she sighed.

A part of him was swelling with pride at how clever she had been. With or without a Time Lord's push, she was one hell of a smart woman; well-educated, passionate and able to connect the dots...

But it didn't seem like a good time to say so.

Instead he repeated, "Yes."

"So what the hell manner of intergalactic Mafia has a baby girl stolen from right in front of her parents, and us?"

All that the Doctor could do was give her a hug and whisper, "I don't know."


	6. Chapter 6

**I realize this has been a longer-than-usual delay... I got hung up on this chapter. This is one of those things that just ain't never gonna be right. It's been through three drafts, and A LOT of editing and overthinking... you'll see why. ;-)**

**I suppose you could say that things are changing... fast! in the world of the Jones family...**

**If I were to say anything to Francine right now, I'd say "Allons-y."**

* * *

Chapter 6

A little girl was gone, and the clock was ticking.

They only had the _how_ and the _when_, not the _who_, nor the _where_. Sometime soon, they might learn the complete _why_, but other questions came first. Martha's first thought was, again, sniffing out communications lines, but the Doctor re-iterated that such a thing would be nigh on impossible given the track-covering devices the unscrupulous Elliwoner Mercenaries possess, and without _something_ to go on, as far as a lead.

And they had nothing.

The Doctor's first thought was a reconnaissance trip to Elliwoner, to seek out the Gesirg and their leadership, to try and flush out or force a confession as to who hired one of them to kidnap Haruka Fujikawa. But Elliwoner was a planet entirely populated by criminals, constantly under the scrutiny of intergalactic police and military, and they were still in operation. That meant that they were constantly _escaping_ said scrutiny, which meant that they had more than just their communications cloaked. They likely had thought-reading devices, universe-class espionage (a species of super-spies), surveillance systems that could detect an insect entering their stratosphere, influential individuals and organisations in their back-pocket, sniper species and hit-men that worked for the planet's security itself, rather than for an outside client... and myriad other measures, preventing them from being infiltrated or found-out in any way. What in the hell made the Doctor think that they could go in there _at all_ and get any kind of useful information? Or not get killed?

Well, frankly, it was the fact that he and his weird, backward methods had been successful numerous times where official channels had failed. This was mostly because the Doctor's adversaries tended to underestimate him. So maybe, just maybe, the Elliwoner wouldn't know him or feel he was a threat. It was possible they wouldn't even register the presence of a little blue box in the belly of the beast because they were looking for other, bigger menaces. But there was too much at stake for them not to find out more about Elliwoner's security before they tried. He was a father again now, he was on-board with his son's mother, and they were trying to save an innocent eight-month-old from possibly a terrible fate. He could not afford to run in with metaphorical guns a-blazin' without doing some research.

And as much as he was aching for an adventure, that prospect exhausted him.

So, after only forty-five minutes of further sifting through the TARDIS' print archive for anything that could be of help, the Doctor called out, "Martha, let's just go home."

* * *

It was early afternoon on a Sunday in London when CJ's parents finally returned from their "first date" since his birth. They entered through the back door. The television was on, three half-eaten Indian food containers lay open on the coffee table, the baby was crying from somewhere unseen, and there were voices sniping at each other from one of the bedrooms.

They looked at each other in surprise, and some amusement.

"Hello?" Martha called out.

They stood still for a moment, and the Doctor realised, "The crying is coming from the kitchen." He went straight for the kitchen door.

He found Francine Jones shushing and lulling, while the baby bounced in his seat on the counter. He was naked except for a diaper, and his limbs flailed in protest as his grandmother pressed a wet cloth to his face.

"Shh," she was saying. "Oh, I know, I know, honey. But you have to forgive your aunt and uncle, because they've had no practise and..."

"Hi," the Doctor said, his voice piercing the crying. "What happened?"

He had startled Francine just a little, and she jumped back from the baby. The Doctor apologised for scaring her, and then he stepped forward and examined the baby's face where she had been pressing the washcloth. There were scratches around his eyes and on his cheeks, a couple of which had drawn slight amounts of blood. Likely, they were self-inflicted injuries. He glanced into the sink. There was a light blue sleeper, partly soiled with what looked to be regurgitated baby formula.

Francine sighed. "They overfed him, then put him down for a nap, and forgot his mittens. So he scratched up his little face and spat up. Woke in a state of complete fit!"

The Doctor chuckled. "Yep," he said. "Lacking in practice. Meh - they'll get it."

"But don't worry," Francine rushed to reassure him. "Tish walked him to sleep first, then put him in the bouncy seat beside the sofa to take his nap. She knows you didn't want him left alone in his room. I guess we all just got distracted because we hadn't had lunch yet."

"It's fine," he said lightly. To the baby, he said, "Aw, it's okay. We'll just get you some mittens, and a nice clean sleeper to curl up in. Can I have that towel?" He unbuckled the straps of the bouncy seat and picked up the little guy.

Francine handed him the soft green towel she had laid out on the counter, and the Doctor wrapped it around the crying boy, doing his best to warm, but not swaddle, him. He, in his turn, tried to lull the crying, and walked the short distance to the window and back, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Two such trips comforted the baby, who closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He balled his fists near his face, and the Doctor gently pushed the little hands down below the towel and pulled the cloth a bit tighter, knowing that after a few minutes, he'd start flailing a bit, and maybe scratching again.

Francine watched with a lump in her throat. Not for the first time, she found herself amazed at the ease with which this frustrating, puzzling man cared for, comforted and anticipated the needs of his son. This infuriating, dashing, handsome man who had seemingly derailed her daughter from everything she once was and knew. There was a time when Francine might have said that this man was "callous" about his influence on Martha. She'd have sworn that he was dazzling and endangering her, leading her on and astray, sleeping with her, _using_ her, without a care in the world. Just the secrecy alone made Francine absolutely crazed with fear for Martha's general well-being.

And yet, here he was. Through the pregnancy, a difficult labour and birth, a chaotic family wedding and the angst-ridden period of parenting a newborn, here he was. Still here, going all domestic, and yet still walking about in that impeccably fitted suit, still with that impenetrably complete effect on her daughter. He was a father. And he was doing a fantastic job - better than she could ever have imagined - with no compunction, no hesitation, no hiccups.

And so, it begged other questions. She had breached some of them already with the Doctor a few nights ago. She watched him now, more certain than ever of some things...

"Thanks for coming round," he whispered to Francine, touching her shoulder lightly to get her attention. He could see that she'd fallen into some kind of reverie. "I assume Tish and Robert Oliver got a bit overwhelmed?"

"They wouldn't admit it, but yes," she said. "I talked to Tish this morning, and she sounded absolutely ragged. But she just kept saying they were fine, they'd manage."

"Didn't he sleep well?" he asked, apologetically.

"I think the baby slept as well as could be expected," Francine said, with a little smile. "His aunt and uncle were just a bit jumpy. Especially after you phoned."

The Doctor sighed. "We shouldn't have stayed out all night, not on their first time. We didn't mean to."

"So why did you?" she asked, boldly.

"Why did we?"

"Yes, why did you and Martha stay out so long?" she repeated. Surprisingly, there was no accusation in her voice, just question.

He sighed, looking at her wearily. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"No, but tell me anyway."

"A little girl was taken while we were trying to have dinner, and we were trying to get her back."

"I see," Francine said. "Well... why not let the police take care of it?"

"Because we have good reason to believe that the, er, _culprit_ is actually after CJ. The girl was... I don't know, his second choice, or a way of making a statement. Something like that."

"Good reason to believe?" she asked, managing to keep her voice even, though she wanted to cry out, _damn it, I knew you were trouble!_

He didn't say anything. He wanted to, but he felt a bit cornered. He could not explain their _good reason to believe_ without telling her that he and Martha regularly travelled through time, and he didn't quite want to go there. Not yet.

"Okay - I believe you," she said, after a long silence. "I'll take your word that you have _good reason to believe_. For now. I don't need the details. My concern right now is focused on CJ. Is he safe?"

"His... _person_ is safe, for now. Probably. Especially as long as he's with us."

"That is actually comforting. You're quite reassuring as a father."

"Thanks," he said with a slight smile.

"And can I ask you one thing? Even though I know you don't want to discuss it?"

"Okay."

"It's something I brought up the other night... I thought I could live without knowing about it, but now that you've said something is trying to come after CJ..."

"Go ahead and ask."

She approached him and stroked CJ's little head. "You _have_ been a father before, haven't you?"

"Yeah," he admitted. "I have."

"Been married?"

"Yeah."

"Divorced?"

He sighed. "Widowed."

She frowned. "Oh, I'm sorry. I had no idea." For about five seconds, inexplicably, she felt a pang of guilt for ever giving him a hard time. And then it passed, but the _sorry_ for him did not.

"It's all right," he told her with a slight smile. "It's been a long time."

"So, you've been through all of it before."

"Yes."

"Even the part where the baby glows in his crib?" she asked, avoiding eye-contact.

"Yes, even that."

Something in his tone made her not want to ask any further questions on the topic of _glowing._

She contemplated the other implications. "You've done the pregnancy, the birth, the newborns, the nappies and feedings... even the in-laws visiting?"

"Yes. And I've enjoyed it, every single time," he said warmly.

"Every single? How many times would that be?"

"Not counting this one? Five."

Her jaw dropped. "You have five... now _six_ children?"

"Have had, yes."

"Have had?"

"Yes."

She gulped. The past-tense indicator did not sit well with her. She didn't know quite how to proceed. "Well... has Martha ever met them?"

"No, she hasn't."

"Has she ever asked to meet them?"

"No. She knows what the answer would be."

"So she knows they exist."

"Oh, yes."

"Where are they now?"

He sighed. "I can't really say."

"Is it because they are being hidden, because something is after them? The same thing that's now after CJ?" she asked, panic rising in her voice, no matter how hard she tried to modulate it.

It was a reasonable question, one that would not have occurred to him. He knew she was just a concerned mother and grandmother, and he regretted that he could not, at this time, put her mind at ease.

"No," he told her, looking down at CJ, avoiding her eye now as well. He was aware of a paradigm shift happening in this room. Francine's worldview was about to change. He knew it would happen sooner or later, but he had pictured it over a pot of tea with Martha's help. "I can't say because... well, I wasn't with them at the time, and some questions are still unanswered, but I'm ninety-nine percent certain that they're dead. All five of my other children, and my grandchildren as well."

Francine steadied herself against the countertop. "Your... _grandchildren_? Doctor," she breathed, looking him over. "You can't be more than... what, thirty-five? Forty?"

"You'd think, wouldn't you?"

"Doctor, don't toy with me. Not now."

"Sorry. Actually, Francine, I've been looking at forty in the rearview mirror for... well, many more miles than I'd like to count."

"How many _miles_, exactly?" she demanded.

"Well... eight hundred and sixty four."

"Eight hundred and... what are you on about?"

"Well, that is, if a mile is a year. I've been over forty for eight hundred and sixty four years."

"Dear God," she breathed.

"Do you believe me?" he asked, quite serious.

"For some reason," she said, still a bit breathless. "I do."

"Listen, I don't want you to worry. Martha and CJ and I are completely safe from what killed them - my family. It was most likely a war, and it's long over."

His matter-of-factness was actually quite disturbing to Francine - she could not understand his relative calm over such a difficult topic.

Francine thought back, momentarily thought over their lives. A year and a half ago, Martha had turned up at Lazarus' party with a guy in a tux, clearly a bit older than she was, and wouldn't (couldn't?) tell his real name or who he was, when they met or why the hell he knew so much about Lazarus' experiment. Since then, Francine had hoped that with time, if this enigmatic man was going to be part of their lives, she would learn everything about him. Especially since she learned that he was the father of her grandchild, she held out a hope that she would understand someday why they were so secretive, and why there was so much she didn't know about him, so much he wouldn't say. But, with this new revelation, that hope went out the window. She wondered now if she would _ever_ understand _anything_ of importance about the Doctor. Was he mad? Or something else?

"What war would that be, Doctor? The Battle of Hastings?"

He chuckled. "No, I'm not French. Or English, as it happens."

"Dear God," she repeated.

"Dear God, what?" Martha asked, coming in from the adjacent room.

Francine's voice had risen higher and louder than she had meant.

Before she could stop herself, she burst out, "Martha, did you know he's nine-hundred and four?"

Martha looked at the Doctor, then back at her mother. "Of course."

"What was all the sniping about?" asked the Doctor.

Martha rolled her eyes. "Oh, they were bickering because they couldn't decide exactly which one of them had forgotten to put the mittens on, and then they couldn't find any clean ones," she sighed, pulling some tiny linen mittens from the palms of her hand, extracting CJ's fists and sliding them on

"Ah. Should we give these people a break?" he asked.

"Definitely," Martha answered.

At that, she turned and exited the kitchen, and the Doctor followed. Francine watched them go, eyes wide as saucers.


	7. Chapter 7

**If you have not read "Portrait of Time," you may want to brush up. Just sayin'. ;-)**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Baby CJ got to sleep in his real bed that night. In his real bedroom, in the TARDIS. Which was locked, alarmed and now parked inside Martha's flat, which was also locked. No taking chances. Though the TARDIS' interior was basically in another dimension, was more or less impenetrable to most beings in the universe, and seemed like the safest place for the baby, it did still have a vulnerable front door that could be knocked down or broken from the outside with the right kind of tool or force. So they had decided to put one more barrier between them and the outside world.

But parental paranoia aside, they didn't really believe too strongly that CJ was in any immediate danger. If he were, someone or something would have been surveilling him. They would have noticed him without his parents, and made a swipe already. The Doctor was relatively sure that whoever, or whatever, was holding Haruka was making a statement by doing so, and the trick was to learn what the statement was, and who was making it. Not necessarily in that order.

"So," Martha said, walking into their _proper_ TARDIS bedroom after putting CJ down. "Trying to give my mother a heart attack, are ya?"

"Ugh, no," the Doctor protested. "I just..."

Martha smiled, put her hands on her hips and waited.

He gave an exasperated sigh. "The last time she and I talked, she made it clear that she knows I'm not a normalish sort of bloke, and that someday soon, we'd have a talk. I guess I've known for some time that I'd have to start being honest with her about things."

"So when she asked your age, you told her?"

"Sort of. Well, yeah."

"Well, that's a bit out-of-nowhere. For her to ask, I mean. Of all the rubbish she's complained of since you came into my life, the fact that you might be older than me has never come up. I mean, even _without_ knowing you've got centuries behind you... well, you look about ten years older than me. Wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, at least. Maybe even fifteen," he said with a shrug. "That's what your mum thought. But it didn't come out of nowhere, like you said. I sort of mentioned grandchildren. I mean, past grandchildren, not hypothetical grandchildren."

"What?" she asked. Then she started laughing. "Doctor, you _had_ to have known that was going to cause a fuss."

"I did. But again, I don't think we can continue lying to her, keeping things from her."

"I guess not," Martha continued laughing.

"Especially since..." he sighed, and any whimsy he'd been exhibiting disappeared.

"What?"

"Especially since CJ's been glowing. She's seen it, she's eventually going to want to know what the hell it means. It has _everything _to do with the fact that Time Lords live very long lives. And it looks very much like regeneration will come into play for him, even though we thought it wouldn't."

"I think you're right," she said, quite seriously. "I think that she might actually have to deal with some regeneration stuff, either while he's with us, or after he goes to live with Tish and Robbo. Because, I've been thinking about it, Doctor, and I wonder... I mean, who's to say that the..." Her voice cut off as she got a bit choked by emotion.

"Who's to say that the what?"

"Who's to say that the body we saw in that basement wasn't CJ's final regeneration? The memoir indicated that he was never sure how old he was, and just because it was only 2065 doesn't mean..."

She stopped talking this time because the Doctor was shaking his head.

"No," he said. "The body in the basement was exactly the same height as me, and had a very, very similar build. His DNA indicated that his human half was of African descent. And I saw him in my dreams, Martha. He had your eyes."

"So that means he can't have regenerated?"

"A Time Lord's first incarnation resembles his parents as they were when they conceived. After that, every regeneration is a hair-colour, eye-colour, height, build, personality crap-shoot. After the first time, anything can happen. But the first body looks like his parents."

"So, if you had regenerated into a circus clown the day after he was conceived, he'd still look like you in _this_ form, the 'Tenth' Doctor, if you will?" she asked, with a fascinated air.

"Yep. So, the odds that the body we examined could resemble you and me so closely and _not_ be CJ's first go-round..."

"...are not good. I get it."

He nodded, and contemplated for a moment. Then he inhaled sharply and said, "But it might all be academic now, because for some reason, our little boy who isn't supposed to regenerate is teeming with regenerative energy. Something has changed. Some hiccup in the continuum of his life has occurred, and changed the outcome."

"Is that so bad?" she asked. "It means he gets to live longer."

"Well... maybe it's not," he conceded. "But it might interfere with the plague research, but... again, maybe it won't. It's just worrying that we don't know _what_ has changed. What _else_ will change as a result? So much hinges on him dying in that basement, and us coming along to unwittingly pick up the pieces. Including you and me coming together as we did."

"Oh, good. He's Marty McFly."

The Doctor chuckled. "Well, then I guess we have nothing to worry about, 'cause it all worked out for the McFly family."

"Well, does it have to do with Haruka getting stolen? I'd say that's a pretty big _hiccup_ in the continuum of his life."

"He was glowing _before_ Haruka disappeared. Well before. Doesn't mean they aren't related, but..."

"Then I'm stumped," she told him, shrugging. "I guess I can take comfort in knowing that you are too."

There was a pause. Then, "Take comfort?" he asked, a bit solemnly.

"Yeah," she shrugged uneasily.

He leaned on a credenza and folded his arms over his chest, studying her for a moment. "Do you miss it?"

"What?"

"The Mandala. You're saying that you take comfort in the fact that I don't know any more than you do right now."

"Yeah, well, I can't help but constantly wonder, whenever there's anything I don't understand," she explained. "Would I understand if I were a Time Lord? Would I have understood this seven weeks ago? Would I be _more help to you_ if I could see the universe the way you do? If I hadn't had a taste of it, I wouldn't even bother to wonder, but knowing what I'm missing, and how useless..."

"Okay, do not finish that thought," he interrupted. He crossed to her and pulled her in close. "Of all the adjectives I would use to describe the totally human Martha Jones, _useless_ would never be one of them."

"Well, you asked. I answered."

"Then I wish I hadn't asked. Forget I did."

She exhaled softly, her cheek against his chest. "What about you? Do you miss it?" she wondered softly.

"Miss it? You mean, do I miss _your_ having it?"

"Yeah."

He hesitated too long to lie convincingly, so he said, "Sometimes."

"I thought so," she said pulling him tighter.

"But Martha, I was The Only Time Lord In Town for a long time before that, and I'm completely fine with going back to that. Although, I guess I'm not the only one anymore, not after the Carnival..." he trailed off.

"I wonder if they're setting up a colony," she mused.

"In any case, wanting you in my life has never, _ever_ had anything to do with whether you can help me do the heavy lifting of time and space."

She smiled and pulled back to look up at him. "Oh, no?"

"Oh, no," he answered, one eyebrow raised.

"Then what _does_ it have to do with, Doctor?" she asked playfully, taking a step away. "Come on, I'm feeling a bit insecure, being all _human_ and everything. Give me some good _adjectives_."

He smiled and pulled his eyes to the ceiling for a moment. "How about, _reliable?_" he said with a smirk.

"What like a sedan?"

He chuckled. "_Smooth? Graceful under pressure?"_

"Not to impugn your rhetorical style, Doctor, but you could still be talking about a car."

He looked her over with uneven eyes. "Okay, how about _sexy_?"

"Good, getting warmer," she said, her smile warming.

He closed the short space between them once again, laying his hands gently on her shoulders. "_Agreeable?_" He leaned down and planted a kiss on her neck. "_Amenable?_"

She flushed all over, the warmth starting at her neck itself and spreading downward, making her shiver.

"Keep talking, and we'll see if you're right about that."

He kissed her again. Then again. "_Adept? Skillful?"_

Now it was her turn to chuckle. "Do I hear an _easy-to-manipulate_ in there somewhere?"

"Absolutely not," he insisted, between two more kisses. "How about, _too clever for me_?"

She sighed, easily surrendering to the "manipulation" he was exaggeratedly firing at her. It had been a while, and she found that she was ready. She had not felt this _ready_ in at least a couple of months. This had been all right with her - new mothers aren't even clear for most amourous activities anyway, for at least six weeks. But that milestone had passed, and she wondered suddenly and silently if the Doctor had been counting the days.

* * *

Slowly, together they surrendered to it, to the innuendo and burgeoning desire. They rediscovered the heat that had always existed between them, that had lain dormant for a bit, at least on the surface.

_Rediscovery_ was just about the right word for it. A new dimension in their relationship had come to fruition since last they had fallen into one another, and to some extent, they had to learn how to lay it aside in order to be intimate again. How does one fully give oneself to one's partner when an infant might cry and interrupt? How does one occupy one's _mind_ with the moment, as well as one's body?

The answer was, slowly.

As she was learning, and as the Doctor was having to re-learn, the partnership that was parenthood is a balancing act, in seeing to _everyone's _needs, not just the child's. Each other. One's own. Sometimes, indulging oneself when there were other things to attend to felt wrong, but it was necessary for one's sanity; it was going to take a little bit of practise.

But once they found their rhythm, they submitted to it, used it well, and did not let it come to disruption. Only one thing in the whole of the universe could have stopped them in that stage, and he was sleeping peacefully, not destined to wake until he became hungry in a few hours. They did _what came naturally_, as Tish had put it.

In the last few moments of twisted sheets, moans, desperate whispers of _I love you_ and mounting, falling and mounting pleasure, Martha found herself once again on her back. There were certainly other ways of expressing physical love, other, more exciting positions, more empowering and explosive techniques to choose from. But this... there was something basic and primal about this. There was something incredible about being _taken_ by him, subjected to the full, out-of-control force of his need. And in spite of being _only human _again, with only a human mind and no Mandala behind her eyes, there was something that connected her to the universe in being under the body and thrall of _this man_, in this state. He was usually so in-control, but this way, he was driven almost to delirium by her. She always forgot about it until it was happening, and quite suddenly, she found her body winding up again, getting primed for one more release.

And there was release. A really exquisite one, perfect and flowing, and in concert with his. He buried his mouth and nose in her neck in yet another primal gesture, and gave a tight groan as he filled her. Their bodies clung and pulsed, sweat soaked the sheets around them, and they were exploding together, blinded, deafened and ultimately numbed.

But just as the height of the first real pleasure in months was subsiding, their bodies were softening and melding into each other, Martha opened her eyes to the bedroom ceiling, expecting to be met with a swirling, post-bliss haze.

Instead, she got a sharp eyeful of something else. She gasped hastily.

"What?" the Doctor asked, still barely able to form words. His mouth was still pressed against the place where her neck met her shoulder, his fists still slightly clenched under the pillow beneath her head.

"Look," she said, staring at the ceiling, halfheartedly trying to push him off.

"What?"

"The ceiling."

With what seemed like great effort, he heaved himself back up onto his elbows and turned his head.

"Blimey," he muttered, and then almost involuntarily rolled over onto his back. His hand went to his forehead in a harrowed gesture.

"That's the creepiest thing I've ever seen," Martha said, her voice breaking, shaking slightly. Whether it was from the emotional impact of what she was seeing, or of what they had just done, she did not know. She reckoned it was a bit of both.

"Yep," he agreed. "Well, now we know who has Haruka."

"We do," she said calmly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Okay, forget what I said before. NOW is the time when, if you haven't read "Portrait of Time," you should brush-up. ;-)**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

The image on the ceiling blipped out for a moment, then came back, but was clearly fading. Before it could disappear for good, Martha quickly rolled to her right and dug her mobile phone out of the nightstand drawer and snapped a picture of it. Within three seconds after that, the image had disappeared.

She threw herself out of bed and pulled her clothes on, without a word. She stalked out of the bedroom and down the hall toward the console room. When she arrived there, she dived under the console into a cabinet, looking for a mad-looking cable that would allow her to hook her phone up to the TARDIS' computer system. She and the Doctor had used it before for something else, back when she was still in-the-know. Though she no longer understood _how_ it worked, she still remembered _that _it worked, and that they had a cable that would make it go.

Though, she had to wait for the Doctor to arrive, because when the display came up on the screen, it was in Gallifreyan. When she saw it, she sighed with loss and annoyance, and gave the Time Rotor a dirty look, wondering if the vessel could hear her thoughts.

When the Doctor plundered in wearing trousers, still buttoning his discarded blue shirt and no shoes, he used the ball-mouse to pull up the photo Martha had just taken, and then used other instruments to sharpen the image. They both stared at it for a few moments, and finally, the Doctor cursed.

"I agree," Martha whispered.

"I knew that guy was going to be trouble!" he shouted, beginning to pace. "Knew it, knew it, knew it!"

Another silence ensued while Martha continued to stare at the image and the Doctor continued to pace.

This time, she broke the silence. "How did he do it?" And for the umpteenth time in the last six weeks, she wondered if this were something she'd have known if she were a Time Lord. Though, she reckoned, this time, she didn't have to wonder. This, she _surely_ would have known, given the circumstances.

"It's a... well, for lack of a better way to put it, a heat-seeking hologram," he answered.

"Oh," she said, blushing a little. "I see."

"He was probably trying to find a way to do it since Haruka was taken, but couldn't actually locate us until..."

"Right."

"Notice it faded..."

"...as soon as we did?"

"Yep," he told her, popping the P slightly.

"Could we send one back to him?" she asked.

"An image? Well, yeah. Usually this function is used to send data codes, schematics and stuff like that into rooms where there are many folks gathered and much ado about something. And in later years, I suppose, it was probably used for battle plans... and now for this." He took a deep breath, and continued, "So yeah, we could do it, theoretically, though, I doubt we could find a space hot enough, and I doubt we'd be able to think of something quite as _à propos_ as this."

"Can't we just scrawl, _you're a prat, we're coming to get you, and if you're smart you'll start running now_ on a piece of paper and project it?"

The Doctor gave a slight smile. "Or we could just hand him the note when we see him."

She didn't smile. She went back to staring intently at the image on the screen.

"You're right, though," she conceded after a few minutes. "It is the perfect picture. The perfect message to send."

"The man's got talent, what can I tell you?" commented the Doctor. "But you already knew that."

"Mm," she agreed. "Do you think he painted it, or is it computer-generated?"

"He'll have painted it, then put it into a kind of projection chamber," he told her. "He's probably been working on it for a long while. This plan has been in the works for..." With that, he exhaled some air through pursed lips, but did not finish his sentence.

"Is it beautiful, or just arrogant?"

"It's both."

"Isn't it a bit heavy-handed that he put it on the ceiling, or did he just do that just 'cause he knew we'd be lying down?"

"All part of the effect, Martha, wouldn't you say?"

"Mm," she repeated.

They both squinted at the image for a bit longer, marvelling, in spite of themselves, at the craftsmanship. The hologram looked like a Renaissance painting. A specific Renaissance painting.

On the left side of the screen, there was the image of a man, most assuredly a Japanese man, completely nude. On a rocky field of green, he was half-lying on his right hip and elbow, reaching out with his left hand. All five fingers were extended in desperation, almost as though trying to claw at something, and his face was contorted in an expression of fear and panic. On the right, inside what could have been a fissure in the universe, there was the image of the greyish creature that reminded Martha of Gollum, a sinewy depiction of the dreaded Gesirg, the mercenary alien who had kidnapped Haruka. It was in a similar position on its right hip, though it reached out toward the man with its left arm. The look on its face was one of mean, cold indifference, with just a hint of greed.

Both figures reached out to one another, and their hands nearly met in-between as the Gesirg grasped at a chubby, Japanese baby girl, crying, flailing her arms as she was removed from her father's care.

The image depicted the kidnapping with merely symbolic accuracy. Its real power was in the fact that it was an homage to _The Creation of Adam_. In the original, Adam lay on his right side, reaching out with his left hand, as God reached out with his right, in order to give him the spark of life.

The original was one of the most famous paintings in human history. Though, it had not been painted on a canvas, or even as a mural.

The original had been painted on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel by the original Michelangelo.

* * *

Now it was Martha's turn to pace. The Doctor was bent at the waist with his elbows on the console, his hands buried in his hair.

"So, is it safe to assume that there's a cell of Time Lords out there somewhere that really want our attention?" she asked. "Or just one?"

"I don't know," he groaned. "My guess would be a cell. Possibly a colony. I really don't think he'd do this on his own."

"But it's only been, what, six weeks since he left us?"

"Yeah, on our timeline, Martha," he reminded her. "Remember, he's in a TARDIS too. Who knows how long he's been out there, knocking about with the other travellers? For all we know, they've had time to grow a new planet from a seedling and came back in time just to vex me. Or because they knew when Haruka was born, and that she and her parents would be vulnerable just now."

"Right," she said, a bit angry with herself for asking such a stupid question.

"Damn it, I should have seen this coming!" he said, standing upright and tugging at his hair. "The way he fixated on you..."

"Yeah," she whispered. Suddenly, she became very uneasy. "I'm going to go check on the baby."

He nodded, and she scurried out of the room.

He leaned back on the console room's sole seat, and again tugged at his hair. "Ugh, Michelangelo. Why wouldn't you just... come after us?" he asked aloud, with gritted teeth. "You had to involve a whole other family..."

He sighed. The question was moot, and not just because no-one except the TARDIS could hear him ask it. The fact was, as soon as it was out of his mouth, he knew perfectly well why Michelangelo and/or the other Time Lords had not just come after CJ. It was all about finesse.

If they had sent a Gesirg to kidnap CJ, for one thing, his parents _know_ exactly what sort of nasties are out there in the universe, and are on high-alert all the time. They also know exactly how to protect him. Michelangelo had seen first-hand what the Doctor was capable of, and reckoned that Miss Jones was probably fairly formidable herself, even once the Time Lord presence had vacated her body. Clever and strong she was, a wicked combination when one adds 'mother' to the equation. In any case, Michelangelo had not been stupid enough to incur the visceral wrath of the two of them. Freeing a carnival full of slaves had made him gather the troops and come out in full force as it was. Stealing their son might get people killed, and the Time Lords had no particular interest in seeing that happen.

For another thing, a full-frontal attack was not likely to convince the Doctor and Martha to give them what they wanted. The Doctor knew that Michelangelo would probably try to "convert" them, to get him and Martha to come round to _their _way of thinking, which was never going to happen. But, Michelangelo would know that it _could_ never happen if the new parents were wounded from a horrible scare, such as their son being kidnapped. Haruka served as a bargaining chip for the Time Lords, and also as a way to cushion the blow of what the Time Lords believed was about to happen to CJ.

And as Martha re-entered the console room with the baby resting on her shoulder, curled in a tiny heap, the Doctor was reminded of another factor.

"Martha, I think it goes without saying that someone needs to go in and rescue Haruka," he said.

"Someone?" she asked, scepticism dripping from her voice.

"Yeah. Me."

"Doctor..."

"And when I do, I don't think you should come with me."

She shifted her weight to one hip and gave him a look of tedium. But it was not a look of outrage, as it might have been in the old days. Clearly, she understood what he was saying, and was thinking about it in spite of herself.

"But not for the reasons you think," the Doctor said.

She blinked a few times. "And what reasons do I think?"

"You're probably thinking that it's because I'm afraid of leaving CJ motherless, that it's too dangerous and all that rubbish."

"Well, yeah."

He shrugged. "Yeah, all of that is true, and if you were a normal person, I'd say _stay behind and gather berries while I do the hunting._"

"If I were a normal person?"

"But you're not. You're extraordinary, and you're my_ Companion_, Martha, not just _the woman I love_ and _mother of my child._ We do these things together, and we will do again. We do them because we are a fantastic team, and we know each others' secret language and how to get out of a jam..."

"So, then what's the reason?" she asked, a touch of impatience seeping into her voice. Nevertheless, she was keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the little bundle on her shoulder.

The Doctor walked forward and placed his hand on CJ's back. He marvelled, not for the first time, how the arched-over, tortoise-shaped little guy's torso could almost fit in his palm. In fact, when he had been born, six weeks ago, he _could_ fit. He stroked gently, and said, "Blimey, he's small."

"Yeah, well," Martha said, with a figurative shrug. "He was early."

"Eight weeks early," the Doctor clarified.

"And only six weeks out of the package now."

His eyes shifted to hers meaningfully.

"You think Michelangelo doesn't even know he's been born yet," she whispered.

He nodded. "There must be a reason he chose _now_, chose a time just before CJ becomes free of your body."

"So the birth could be in the history books?"

"Perhaps, but maybe there's another reason. I think I need to find out."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The Doctor and the TARDIS did some research, and were not too surprised that the Time Lords had made themselves very easy to find.

"Where are they?" Martha asked, stepping out of the Police Box in a lavender bathrobe, and into her flat. The Doctor stepped out behind her, fully dressed, carrying the baby in one arm, feeding with the other.

They had decided to go back and have a good-night's sleep before rushing into the belly of the beast. Or, rather, before the Doctor rushed in. But what constituted a good-night's sleep these days was relative; it was now five-thirty-six in the morning, and according to CJ, it was time to get up and at 'em.

"On a planet called Kremásmatos Metá, in the spring of 2441," he answered, rather flatly.

"So it's been over four hundred years for them."

"Yep," he answered, equally flatly.

"Not looking forward to going in, I take it," she commented, heading for the kitchen.

"Nope, not in the least," he answered, following her. "Plus, that planet..."

She waited for him to finish as she filled a teapot with water. When he said nothing, she craned her neck to see him standing behind her, absently staring out the window. "What about that planet?"

"I think I know it. It used to be called Kremastoús Kipous, it was named by its discoverers, the so-called Spartans, who revered the ancient cultures of Earth."

She moved across the kitchen and plugged the teapot into the wall. "Okay, with you so far."

"Kremastoús Kipous means _hanging gardens_ in Greek, presumably because there was something, I don't know, _Babylonian_ about it. It was ripe with resources, and managed to stay fairly pristine. It used to be a place where different peoples would come, stay for a generation or two, and move on. It became an unwritten rule that if you were going to go there, you would not stay long enough to deplete resources noticeably, and you would vacate so that others could have a chance at it."

"Wow," Martha marvelled. "How did that work?"

"Well, apparently, it didn't," he told her, looking down at CJ. "Because now, it appears that the Time Lords have set up shop there. As of 2441, they have been there for over two hundred years. That's way too long to hold out hope that they have any intention of vacating."

"And they... renamed it?"

"Slightly. They're calling their planet Kremásmatos Metá, which means _hitching post_ in Greek, I suppose, hoping that no-one will notice it's changed."

"I don't understand the significance."

He squinted at nothing, thinking. "If I understand Time Lords, and I do, most of the time, they think that by calling it a _hitching post_, they can give the impression that it was a pit-stop... that no-one would have had any particular attachment to it. That it was no more than a widening-in-the-road, and it was free for the taking."

"Really?" she asked, sceptically. "They think no-one will notice?"

"Or maybe that no-one will mess with them. Last anyone heard, the Time Lords and Daleks were destroying the universe in a hail of fire and mayhem. Who's going to tell them to move?"

"Even though there's only a few of them?"

"Yeah, well, we have no idea how many of them there are."

"So, if everyone's afraid of them, why did they bother to change the name?"

He shrugged, jostling the incredibly alert infant lying between his left forearm and chest. "Time Lords are shifty. Everyone thought they were peace-loving to a fault, until the war happened, then they were war-mongers. But most of them would probably still tell you they _are _peace-loving, and they would want to project that to the world." He took a deep breath, and then, "But, this is just a theory. Based on the coordinates, I _think_ it's the same planet, but I can't be certain until I get there."

"I see. Cup of tea before you go?" She turned and pulled a box of good black loose-leaf from the cupboard, along with a box of silk sachets.

"Sure," he said. "I have a feeling that by the end of today, I won't want to identify myself as a Time Lord anymore. Why not go British?"

* * *

To the Doctor's dismay, but not surprise, Kremásmatos Metá _was_, in fact, the same as Kremastoús Kepous. The "Hanging Gardens" had become a "Hitching Post," counterintuitive as it may seem. Whatever the reason, the name-change did not sit well with him. Either way, it indicated that the Time Lords had no intention of keeping the unwritten promise of the resource-laden planet. What other promises were they going to break?

He had targeted the correct date, roughly, but found that he could not materialise inside the planet's atmosphere. There was some kind of safeguard against unauthorised TARDIS arrivals. He decided to see if he could fly it in manually, though he doubted it.

Sure enough, there was a barrier round the outer stratosphere.

"Damn," he whispered. He had wanted to come in unseen, and find Michelangelo on his own terms. Now, it was clear that he'd been naïve to believe he'd ever be able to do that; obviously, he'd have to get in touch with the New Citadel and ask permission to land.

"Hello, Doctor," said a voice, as the TARDIS hovered, stuck, in the stratosphere, unable to descend any further. The voice was sharp and gravelly, almost as though the owner had something caught in his throat.

"Who is this?" asked the Doctor.

"Ah yes, my voice was different when last you heard it. I'd almost forgotten that it's been such a short time for you. Much longer for me, as I'm sure you'd noticed."

"Michelangelo," said the Doctor. "You've regenerated. By the way, what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"Michelangelo suits me fine. It's the moniker I have used ever since meeting you at the Pecclates Carnival."

"Seriously?"

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but it's one that stuck. I found that I enjoyed being equated with the Renaissance painters of Earth."

"So I saw," the Doctor muttered. "Regenerated, and yet still painting."

"Sometimes, the strongest of our strengths do not leave us, from one regeneration to the next."

"Very true," the Doctor agreed. "You got lucky."

"Indeed, though I did, to a certain extent, have to re-train my new eyes and hands for the art," said the voice. "Would you like to come into the fold, my friend?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes with tedium. "I'd like to land, yes."

"I'll send you coordinates for the New Citadel, just check your interface."

"You're in the Citadel?"

"Of course," said Michelangelo. "Where else would the President spend his time?"

* * *

When the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, it was into a round, cavernous space. There were gold columns for three hundred and sixty degrees around, and the walls in-between alternated between black and deep red. The floor was beige marble, and covered in black Gallifreyan lettering, hailing the power of Time, the eternity of the Time Lords. They were slogans from the Old Days, and for just a moment, the Doctor's stomach lurched with homesick nostalgia.

And then he remembered himself.

"Welcome," said the gravelly voice.

The Doctor turned to find a man standing near the wall, dressed from head-to-toe in gold, red and black robes that matched the room they were in.

"Hello," said the Doctor. "I see you did away with the bat wings."

"Bat wings?" asked Michelangelo. "Oh, the headdresses. Yes. Too gauche for my taste."

"Right," the Doctor answered. He shoved his hands in his pockets coolly and rocked back on his heels. He looked Michelangelo up and down, assessing.

The man before him was tall - taller than the Doctor by at least three or four inches, which put him at six-foot-four or five. He stood with a slight stoop, as though his back pained him. His Adam's Apple stuck out from the throat of an extraordinarily long neck, like a cricket ball under a handkerchief. His hair was cropped close all the way around, half grey, half jet-black. The cool, clear blue eyes that had been so striking in the average-height Michelangelo they had met at the carnival were now gone, and had been replaced by two beady black blots, surrounded by eye sockets and eyebrows that seemed to naturally squint. The nose was long like the neck, and the mouth was thin and guarded. The old beatific, hypnotic demeanour had been replaced by a vulture-like presence, big and bony enough to loom over even the Doctor.

"So," the Doctor said, clapping his hands, his voice and clap reverberating off the walls like a pinball. "I came to get Haruka. Where is she? You can just tell me - I'll just grab her and show myself out. No need to trouble yourself."

Michelangelo smirked. "You're irreverent."

"Yep. It's kind of my thing."

"So tell me, how is Martha?"

"She's doing well," the Doctor replied, not wanting to offer much information. "She's at home."

"Ah yes. The birth is getting close," said Michelangelo with a wide smile. His eyes sparkled with an excitement that was wholly unsettling to the Doctor.

The Doctor did not respond to the comment. Instead he asked, "Did you lure me in here just to make small talk?"

"Of course not. You know very well why I've invited you here."

"_Invited_?" the Doctor asked, with a laugh. "Interesting word for it. But we're in your home, so... as you like."

"The word choice is not, after all, the point, Doctor."

"No. The point is that you're holding an innocent little girl hostage. You are depriving a loving mother and father of their daughter until you get what you want from me."

"Now, see, that's where you're wrong, Doctor," said Michelangelo. "We have no intention of returning Haruka to her parents, ever."

"You don't?"

"If all goes the way we think it will, she will remain with us," Michelangelo said, matter-of-factly, his hands clasped calmly in front of him.

"So you're not looking for a trade?" the Doctor asked, confirming. Again, he was not terribly surprised. "One baby for the other?"

"I think not."

"So, if you're not looking for us to give you CJ in exchange for returning Haruka to her parents, then what motivation could we _possibly_ have to give him up? The Fujikawas are devastated at the loss of their daughter, and will never be the same again, for the rest of their lives. If that's going to happen either way, then why should Martha and I meet the same fate, if there's no hope for the Fujikawas? Why _two_ sad, childless couples?"

Michelangelo's thin lips went even thinner. He was annoyed.

The Doctor smiled. "Aren't you about to proselytize? 'Cause if you are, you might as well get on with it. I don't have all day."

Michelangelo took a deep breath and began orating, somewhat reluctantly. "Doctor, you and I both know, perhaps better than anyone, that not all Time Lords are alike. Those who live here in the new civilisation of Kremásmatos Metá were travellers, like you and me, or they are the children of those travellers. They were the ones - _we_ were the ones - who couldn't stand the old regime, who took off and left those stodgy old Time Lords to their own devices. The individuals here, well, they are... individuals. I won't say it's a motley crew, but... it's a much more _interesting_ place to live than Gallifrey was."

"I'll bet."

"But one thing comes through loud and clear from all sides: hope. When we first settled here, we had nothing. Nothing material anyway - just each other and whatever meagre possessions we'd been travelling with. But we had hope, and that is what kept us going."

The Doctor crossed his arms over his chest, and got ready to hear what he had really come here to confirm.

"We were so grateful just to be together, so grateful to have survived. And as our population grew, and we found more and more Gallifreyans scattered across the universe, our gratitude and hope grew. It was like a living organism; something inside wanted to burst. So many folks were tired of being nomads, had been called to a calmer life by the destruction of our planet, had been looking for a home, a place to settle. When they learned they were not alone... well, all that emotion almost boiled over."

"I can imagine that," the Doctor told him, expressionlessly.

"Folks were grateful _to me_, for coming to find them, putting it all back together again. But I did not accept that gratitude. I didn't feel I deserved it. Rather, I asked them to transfer that gratitude onto someone else."

"And who might that someone be?" asked the Doctor with a scowl.

Michelangelo smiled sheepishly. "Come now, Doctor. It must go without saying that my freedom from slavery is entirely due to you and Martha. If I had not met you, there would be no hope for the new Time Lords, for Kremásmatos Metá, for any of this."

"Mm-hm, keep talking."

"And within that adventure with you and Martha, within that whirlwind, the thing that gave me the most hope, the thing that awakened my senses again, the thing that let me know that there was truly a chance that a new vision of Gallifrey could be realised... was Martha. Or rather, the child growing inside of Martha."

"Right. The first Time Lord born after the war."

"All that war, all that destruction, and yet... life emerges. Something survived to bring new life. It's beautiful. So yes, your son was the first conceived, and until all of this rose up here on Kremásmatos Metá, the only. For a long while, I believed he would be the only, ever. Though, as it turns out, our former travellers are having no trouble conceiving as they like, now that they don't have to live in a TARDIS, right on top of the Vortex."

"Good, glad to hear it."

"But Doctor, it does not matter how many children are born after him. He is the first. He is the Child that gave me hope enough to start a new Time Lord colony. He is the Child of Promise. He reminded me, Doctor, of life and love and the possibilities that lie therein. Your son gives rise to all that you see here," Michelangelo said. "The whole planet and every single Time Lord or Lady, every single ideal that we hold dear. None of it is possible without his spirit to buoy me, and by extension, everyone else."

"He's your Messiah."

"If you like. And he should be yours, too. Has he not saved you from a solitary existence?"

"No, his mother did that. And if I'm honest, some people before _her_ had some success at that."

"But they are not Time Lords. Even without us, without me and the new haven of Kremásmatos Metá, he would be your salvation."

The Doctor took three steps forward and scratched behind his ear. "Are you a father, Michelangelo?"

"No, I have never had the pleasure."

"Then you wouldn't understand that any child of mine is a saviour to me. It wouldn't matter if Gallifrey were still alive and well, teeming with life - he would still be my salvation. I could be human or Sontaran or Time Lord or an otter... my son would be my salvation."

Michelangelo smiled. "Then why are you resisting my... I'll use your word: proselytizing? Why deny others of that joy that you feel when you look at him?"

The Doctor tried to think rationally about this question, but his mind was being pulled in a million different directions. The strongest thought was: the Time Lords want to raise CJ like a Chosen One, exalted like a king. This came through the din very crisp, like a great big, neon, flashing sign.

And at that moment, something switched in the Doctor's brain. He replied, "You said some things I had never thought of before specifically."

"Well, think about them."

"Don't rush me," the Doctor snapped. "I'm going to need time. And some discussion."

Michelangelo smiled softly. "All right. And Martha?"

"I'll talk to her. But she's going to need time too, and there are no promises."


End file.
